


Crooked Teeth

by Cap_Chameleon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Bugs, Choking, Deepthroating, Demon possession, Demonic Themes, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Sex, Fire, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horror, IM SORRY IM USING THE TAGS AS MORE AS A WARNING SYSTEM i have no idea how ao3 works, Limb loss, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Mouth Kink, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Human Genitalia, Public Display of Affection, Religious Themes, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Transformation, Violence, Vomiting, demon/priest AU, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9925226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Chameleon/pseuds/Cap_Chameleon
Summary: Mako Rutledge is a man with a hefty history, but who he was back then is dead. Now he lives reborn in the Church, forgiven, a new man. Or at least he likes to believe so. Old habits are hard to kill, especially when a centuries old menace reawakens the skeletons of his past.





	1. Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn’t planned on making the trip, but the Bishop wanted to use it as an excuse to further Mako’s experience in his clerical duties. He was fresh out of his deaconship, after all. Mako didn’t much care for the reason he was there as long as he could take a few walks and maybe feed some pigs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

It was a cool afternoon, the air fresh with the scent of autumn rain. Clouds shielded the sun from completely touching the ground, but luckily the sky wasn’t ready to start the downpour. Mako shut the door to his truck and took a few muddy steps out into the open. He had to take a moment just to breathe it all in. He loved visiting the country. It’s where he grew up, and it’s where he wished to retire. Eventually. For now he had a job to do, and that was to respond to a concerning email claiming the land was haunted.

He hadn’t planned on making the trip, but the Bishop wanted to use it as an excuse to further Mako’s experience in his clerical duties. He was fresh out of his deaconship, after all. Mako didn’t much care for the reason he was there as long as he could take a few walks and maybe feed some pigs. That thought trail was quickly put to the back of his mind as a village representative approached him. He was tall with a round gut, but still easily half the size of Mako.

“Afternoon, Father.” The man’s voice was shaken as he tried to be professional. “I’m glad they finally sent one of ya down here.”

Mako took the hand that was offered to him and firmly shook it. He supposed he should smile and act friendly, but what appeared on his face was more of a toothy smirk. His lower canines jut out noticeably, giving his expression a threatening undertone. The old scars on his face provided no help either.

“It’s no trouble. Good to get out of the office.” Mako’s voice was low and confident. The other man seemed to be rather intimidated at that.

“Right. Please come on inside, there’s a storm comin’.”

Mako did as he was told, following safely behind. “The email you sent was pretty vague. Care to elaborate, Mr. …?”

“Travis. Just Travis, no need for that kinda formality in a place like this.”

Mako accepted that. The building he entered must have been some kind of courthouse. An old one, with a small lobby that lead directly into the main space. About a dozen or so people sat in the pews, watching closely as Travis directed Mako up to the front of the room. He was instructed to sit, and the first of the crowd walked hesitantly up to the podium.

“‘Ello, Father Rutledge. We’re but humble farming folk, but we’re glad you could spare some time tah come ‘elp us.” This guy was probably older than Mako; his hair matched Mako’s in its white color but thinned terribly on the top. Mako nodded and the man continued. He described an odd case where his corn crop had withered overnight, each husk bursting with smoke and dead bugs when opened. Next, a woman explained that her dogs will not walk further than the edge of the sand surrounding the local lake. Another person told a story that happened some time ago, about a dust storm that was made of ash rather than loose dirt. The tales went on until Travis took the stage.

“We’re hoping a man of God such as yerself will be able to bless our land. ‘N stop this curse.” He pulled the hat off his head, everyone else in the room doing so as well. Mako stood. Being a man of action rather than a man of words, he only said one thing:

“Take me where the dogs won’t go.”

 

The sky had only grown darker, the wind picking up in speed and strength. That didn’t bother Travis and the other few citizens that followed Mako and the woman down to the shore. Rain meant good crops, and that was all they could hope for with this plague pestering their land. The breeze coming from the water was icy. It reminded Mako of the fishing trips he took with his parents all those years ago. The rocky mixture of sand crunched below their feet until they arrived at the remains of an iron fence. At this point, most of the villagers kept their distance.

“What is beyond here?” Mako brushed off the rust on one of the posts. Travis twisted the hat in his hands.

“Old church. No one’s allowed back there.”

“Why?”

“Not sure. Just somethin’ our parents and grandparents have been tellin’ us.”

One of the others spoke up. “My brother and a couple of his friends went in there. None of ‘em ever mentioned what they saw but… all of ‘em are no longer with us.”

“Suicide?”

That earned Mako a number of solemn nods from the group. He peered up the path and began to walk.

“You’re going in there!?” Travis yelled. Mako grunted a confirmation. He hesitated a moment; all of this nonsense of ghosts and curses would be put to rest if he could prove the church held nothing to be worried about. It was all superstition and Mako knew it. Still, he clutched his satchel close to him and resumed the track through the sand. No one made an effort to stop him. Or follow him.

 

The church he found was small, the white paint barely hanging on to the rotting wood of the exterior. To his surprise, much of the structure was constructed of stone. The church must have been older than he thought. Mako approached the large doors to find them stuck shut, the wet weather having rusted the two together. He dug his feet firmly into the cracked stone underneath him and shoved into the iron. Mako had always been naturally muscular. And naturally fat. His sheer mass could bring down literal walls if he tried. He was glad to hear the metal hinges squeak and hiss as one of the doors gave in. Success, Mako thought. Until it hit the side of a massive fallen stone.

Mako exhaled a frustrated growl. There was no way that was going to budge, and he was way too big to fit through the crack. Those kids probably did easily. His following thought brought him to explore around the sides of the church, hopefully to find another entrance. All of the windows were either too high or too small for him to climb through. He was about to call it quits when he noticed a staircase leading to a rotten wooden service door. He panted as he climbed the steps, taking out the Bible and bottle of Holy Water he had brought in his bag. Sprinkle some of this on the ground, recite a few passages, and everything should be golden. The door did not fight back as Mako broke in.

It was dark. The heavy wind from outside did not follow Mako through the threshold. He felt as if he was intruding someone’s home, like if he disturbed anything inside he’d have some old crone running at him telling him to fuck off. He laughed at the thought, trying to build up the nerve to keep going. The soft light coming from the windows allowed him to see a little better in the main hall. Opening the book in his hands to a marked page, Mako grumbled out some words. The congregation room was large and at some point must have been beautiful. The stained glass windows were faded in color but still yielded intricate designs. Mako continued down the steps into the pews, opening the cap on the bottle and splashing a few drops in front of him. He froze. On the ground was a darkened brown stain: puddled right here, then leading in scratchy streaks to the back of the room. A chill ran violently down Mako’s chest and spine. What had happened?

He quieted his footsteps and followed the stain behind the pastor’s podium, into the doorway behind, and down a short set of stairs. Moisture crept down the walls and the air became warmer.

“Gugh, shit!” The smell practically punched him in the nose. His head went blurry; he had to shuffle to the side to keep his balance. He covered his face with his huge palm to try and drown it out. It was too dark to see anything, but at his feet was a broken lantern. Decades old, looked like. Those kids probably smelt the same thing and dropped it. Mako rummaged in his bag and retrieved his cell phone, quickly turning on the flashlight feature to see what was emitting the odor.

Bodies. Lots of them. But… they were nothing but bones and dust. Mako found himself in an underground cemetery. All of the graves had been dug up and destroyed. Whoever did it piled all the corpses in the center of the corridor. Mako furrowed his brow. There were more here than the few graves lining the walls could carry. And these bodies were too old to give off a smell this putrid. It was almost like rotten eggs. Was it a broken gas line? Whatever the source, Mako knew he was in over his head. He took the water he had stuffed under his arm and threw most of it over the pile. With the bottle secure again, he turned the light from his phone onto his book and bellowed out the scripture. It wasn't like he knew what he was doing; he was no expert on purification, but it felt right to him.

An intense ringing sound pierced his skull. Mako roared in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his phone to his chest as to not drop it. The high pitched sound fluttered like laughter, getting louder and louder. The exposure to the gas was probably preventing him from thinking straight. He forced his eyes open and saw blood drop from his face. Was his nose bleeding? He traced his vision back to the pile of bones, and it caught on some kind of circle drawn on the dirt beneath. A pentagram. Fuck this, no. No. No. Mako was up and climbing the staircase in no time at all, his breath heavy and wheezing. His inhaler is in his bag but he was sure as hell not going to stop and take it.

The light in the congregation hall was almost blinding. All of the details shrouded by shadows before were now clear as day. Being on the opposite end of the stain’s trail, Mako discovered multiple streaks leading to dozens of puddles. Scorch marks plastered every wall; some were cluttered with browned hand prints, dragging down to the floor in desperation. His heart was pounding in his chest, tears stung his eyes. He charged at the iron doors and yanked both off their joints in a single act of adrenaline. Once outside, he ran as far as he could before crashing to his knees, hurrying to take a breath from his inhaler.

The smell. It lingered on him almost as strong as where he’d found it. He took a moment to calm himself, noticing the cloud cover overhead had evaporated. He wasn’t in there for that long, was he? Finally catching his breath, he stood and brushed off the dirt from his knees and hands.

 

Travis was waiting for him at the edge of the shore. He seemed visibly relieved to see Mako safely returning. “You were gone for hours! Everyone’s headed back. Christ, are you okay there, Father?” He must’ve been referring to the dried blood clinging on to Mako’s face.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Your problem is definitely that church. Burn it down. Don’t go inside.”

“Burn it?” Travis looked unsure, pulling his hat from his head yet again.

“Best way. I’ll send someone out here to purify the grounds once it’s done.” He shoved passed and trudged back to his truck.

“Th-thank ya, Father Rutledge! You sure yer okay? Do ye need to wash up or somethin’? Stay for dinner?” The man made a movement like he wanted to follow but stopped himself.

“No. May God bless you.” And that was that. Mako slammed the door of his truck and hurried down the road. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to stop and see the farm animals, but the only thing on his mind at the moment was washing this damn smell away back at his own apartment.

 

Mako stepped out of the shower and crinkled his nose. The scent would not leave him, no matter how hard he scrubbed. It wasn’t as heavy anymore, thankfully. He crawled in bed and quickly found sleep, glad to have scheduled an extra day off. There was no way he’d be getting out of bed before noon. His dreams that night were of nothing but fire and smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.  
> Leave comments! Let me know how I'm doing!


	2. Tar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The steam from the hot shower was a blessing; Mako took his time to enjoy the warmth overtaking him. He wanted to forget about Mass that morning, but he thought he should at least try to make an appearance. The head pastor was nice enough to let him stay home the extra days while he got over this mysterious affliction. It wasn’t going away, but Mako felt uneasy being alone in his apartment for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark  
> 

The heat kept growing. No matter where he turned, a rush of red flame lashed at his face. It threw him back and bit at his skin, but he never burned. The feeling of being trapped, confined, walled off from any hope of finding peace overwhelmed Mako. But there it was: an outstretched hand reaching for him. Desperately he grabbed at it and more arms spawned around him. Pulling, tugging, they lifted him into the air. Suddenly his body was cool again.

Mako quickly popped the two pills into his mouth, swallowing huge gulps of water from the glass in his hand. Every morning for the last week he had woken up like this. Drenched in sweat, freezing in his bedsheets, and with a tremendous headache. At first he thought he contracted the flu or some other virus, but his doctor said he was healthy. The scent he brought home from the cemetery had mostly subsided, yet every once in awhile Mako would catch it sneaking its way back into his nostrils. No one at the clinic seemed to be able to smell it, and Mako wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

The steam from the hot shower was a blessing; Mako took his time to enjoy the warmth overtaking him. He wanted to forget about Mass that morning, but he thought he should at least try to make an appearance. The head priest was nice enough to let him stay home the extra days while he got over this mysterious affliction. It wasn’t going away, but Mako felt uneasy being alone in his apartment for so long.

 

Fortunately for him, Mako’s two fellow clergymen were usually the ones speaking during their services. Mako was never good at talking to crowds of people, but he was a talented listener. He was in charge of Confession, a quieter and more personal job better suited for him. When he was first hired, the church even spent the money to get a larger compartment so he could be more comfortable.

His colleagues and the congregation put on happy faces to welcome him back to work. Mako couldn’t help but feel like the display was only skin deep. _“No one wants you here,”_ a voice would tell him. _“Get out, get out, get out!”_ He shoved that thought to the back of his mind, fully prepared to take on his responsibilities. Mako did his standard greetings and sat down, letting the head pastor start the sermon. It went by fast, mostly due to Mako blanking most of it out.

 

“Are you feeling any better?” Mako did not want to answer the question the Father had asked him, but the sweat on his brow and the exhaustion in his eyes gave his condition away. Father Luke was the church’s head priest, much younger than Mako and with more charisma. The parish loved him.

“Doc says I’m fine,” Mako grumbled. He needed to go to his office and sort through the no doubt massive pile of papers and emails that awaited him from being out so long.

“That’s not a real answer, Father.” The man stood in front of Mako, preventing him from walking any further. “God will give us signs to warn us when something is wrong. You weren’t yourself today.”

“What’re you getting at?” Mako was not in the mood. That voice kept telling him to just ignore the guy.

“I’m only making myself available. In case you need to talk.”

“That’s my job, Father. And I’ll be late if I can’t get to my office.”

“I understand. We’re concerned for you... Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

Mako hurried by after a half-assed “Thanks.” He was right, his office was a mess.

 

By this time of night, most of the staff had gone home. Mako took a moment to go through the tithe box and sort between the donations. The drive to the bank was quiet; the radio on Mako’s truck hadn’t been working since his trip, he’d fix it later though. The Ministry Assistant usually counted the tithes but Mako had offered to take over the role early on in his priesthood. The poor woman was grateful at that, no longer having to stay late and miss being able to prepare dinner for her kids. Mako did this every night. Deposit the checks, then the cash, but not all of it. He’d keep a small amount for himself. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to satisfy his nightly visit to the bar.

Mako signed off the ATM and rolled up his window. A shrill laugh echoed behind him. He turned around quick, almost expecting someone to be in the back seat. There was nothing. Why would there be? Mako grunted in thought before pulling out of the drive through.

 

It always felt good to get out of his priestly attire. It was almost like he was normal again, going to bars in his favorite leather jacket and jeans. People treated him like everyone else, no “Father”s or “God bless you”s. If anyone had recognized him from his day job, they never approached him. Good.

“Where’ve you been, hotshot?” the cute bartender started mixing up Mako’s usual drink as soon as he entered the venue.

“Home sick,” Mako returned with that smile one could only describe as a smirk. He sat down, the bar stool creaking a bit under his weight. He took the drink gladly.

“Oh now that won’t do. Gotta take care of yourself. On the house tonight, Darling.” The young man flashed a friendly smile at Mako before turning his attention towards other customers. If Mako wasn’t worried about being exiled from the church, he’d have taken the guy home with him by now. He was just his type: young, attractive, and with an electric attitude. He’d even asked Mako out once or twice, him having to decline of course. In another life, maybe. A clawing at his heart pulled him away from those thoughts.

A roar of laughter shot through the whole room, the table in the corner coming to life. Ah, this was why Mako loved coming here. Before the accident that had left him scarred and beaten, he was a member of a small biker gang. Roadhog was his name, and he was the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the group. Those guys in the corner, shouting and drinking together, that brought back memories of a better time. He couldn’t go back now, so much had changed…

 _“Why not?”_ That damn voice again. The thoughts were becoming increasingly unwelcome; they didn’t feel like his own. Mako quickly downed his drink and pushed his stool back. He knocked into someone behind him, one of the bikers. Before an apology could leave his mouth, the guy shoved back into him.

“Watch yourself, ya damn half-wit!” The shove barely moved him, but Mako completely forgot about apologizing. He stood abruptly, pushing close to the other man. Mako’s belly forced the guy to take some steps back. No one was bigger than Mako, and that poor son of a bitch needed to know how much he screwed up.

 _“Grab him! Fuck up his face so even his dear old mum couldn’t recognize him!”_ Mako picked the man up by the shirt, his feet kicking to try and free himself. _“Do it! Do it do it do it, do it!”_ The men back at the table had all turned to look at the scene taking place. Mako couldn’t believe what he was doing. He dropped him on his ass and made a beeline towards the exit. He heard expletives being thrown at him from behind but didn’t stop. He had to get home.

 

The bar was only a few blocks from his apartment. Mako liked to think the walk helped him keep in shape, on top of his occasional visits to the gym. Usually he enjoyed these strolls, but tonight… He stopped in his tracks and turned around. Someone was following him. He knew it. They were right in the corner of his eye, watching, but disappeared as soon as Mako tried to look directly at them. Was he just seeing shadows? Mako resumed his walk. There it was again, he turned faster.

“Hey!” he shouted. The resonance of his voice seemed to shake the streetlights. A rat scurried from a bush into an alleyway. Oh. Mako felt stupid, he was just tired. The quicker he got home the better.

 

Mako didn’t normally shower more than once a day but what he did back at the bar left a dirty feeling on him. His aggression levels were through the roof. The water relaxed him and the steam made it easier to breathe. _“You were good."_ Ugh. _“You should reward yourself."_ I don’t deserve a reward, Mako thought. But… there was that familiar heat pooling in his groin, and jacking off sounded really good at the moment. It was forbidden with his vow of celibacy, but what the Church didn’t know wouldn’t hurt it. It had been a long time since he indulged himself.

Taking his girth in his hand, he pumped slowly to start off. He gradually led his erection down and out, getting himself fairly hard. It was a good feeling. With the warm water running across his skin, it didn’t take long to get nice and full. His heavy cock fit perfectly in his palm. Mako’s movements picked up in speed, but he needed something to think about. That cute bartender, right. Mako tried to picture him getting on his knees in front of him, what his face would look like. Begging for him.

The face he thought about wasn’t the bartender’s. The brown curly hair was instead blond and wavy, the round face long and angular. There were messy freckles and eyes of fire. Whatever, it worked. He leaned back on the cold shower wall and pumped hard. He imagined the man opening his mouth, ready for him to spill. His breath hitched, and he came with a low groan.

Mako heard that laugh again. Opening his eyes, he swore he could see a silhouette in the steam outside the shower door. He swung it open without turning off the water. Nothing was there, but Mako’s chest was pounding. He switched the shower off and stepped out to look around. Still no one. He was beginning to wonder if his imagination was even strong enough to think some of this stuff up.

He wrapped himself in a fresh, fluffy pink towel and headed to the sink to get ready for bed. He felt another familiar feeling in his belly. He stepped to the side just in time to kneel and empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He choked on it, coughing hard to clear his airway. He had expected to see his microwave dinner in the bowl, but it was black. Like tar.

“What-” was all he could get out before more came up. It went through his nose too this time, and Mako struggled to catch his breath. He started to panic. What the hell was this stuff? Too dark to be blood…

“Sorry about that, mate.” Mako jerked up and looked behind him. The voice snickered. “One of the side effects. Don’t worry too much about it, it’ll stop.”

That was a clear voice. It rang loud in Mako’s head, like someone was standing right next to him. It was scratchy and unpleasant.

“Show yourself, pest.” Mako spit the rest of whatever was in his mouth into the bowl.

“Can’t do that. Yet, anyway.” Another snicker.

“The fuck are you talking about? Get out.”

“Can’t do that either. But I can leave ya alone for a bit if you’d like.”

“How about you stop barging into people’s homes?” Mako wiped his lips and used the vanity to help stand himself up.

“You did it first, big guy.” The voice cackled loudly at that.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah-ah! Spoilers, mate. Not done with ya yet. Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Mako clenched his fist. “I’m not gonna take this shit from some punk!”

The lights flickered, the leftover steam evaporating. Mako could feel the temperature drop.

“I said: I’m not done with ya.” The voice got lower… or was it higher? “How about you _Go To Bed_. We’ll have lots of fun tomorrow.”

Mako couldn’t stop himself from turning back towards the sink. He rushed to prepare for bed, drying and combing his hair, brushing his teeth, all the stuff he normally did. He was in the warm sheets in no time with his eyes locked on the ceiling. His heart was going wild in his chest, but his body felt tired. He began to fall asleep outside of his own will. Some “punk” wouldn’t be able to do this… Mako finally knew what he had brought home from the country. It wasn’t the flu, it was something far more sinister. He was possessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> Surprise! The chapter's out a day early. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of positive comments I got from Bone. Each one means so much. Please continue to tell me how I'm doing. If you have questions, critiques, suggestions, please let me know in the comments!
> 
> Also, just a note, any sexual acts committed in this story are 100% consensual. The "sinister entity" did not make Mako touch himself against his will. I'll cover this in the fic itself in a future chapter.


	3. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried to struggle, but even his incredible strength could not free him from its grasp. A buzz of laughter rose from the depths behind the podium, a huge swirl of black flame accompanying it. From the smoke and shadows a figure manifested, and that’s when Mako realized it was not fire holding him, but a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

Softly the sound of fire and smoldering wood surrounded Mako. He could not see the flames this time; everything was black as if he were blind. The heat was as intense as ever. It pulled him in circles and he could barely keep his balance. The noise grew louder until it completely overtook Mako’s mind. There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from being swallowed by it, not even his screams could be heard over the force of it.

Mako sat up fast, clutching his chest as it pounded in fear and confusion. This was not his bedroom. The floor was cold and hard. Stone. A voice snapped his gaze in front of him: There was a pastor’s pulpit. A man he did not recognize spoke out to the room. Mako should be able to hear him clearly but the words were muddied and unrecognizable. To his sides were rows of pews, each with a dozen or so members sitting and listening. It seemed like they were deep in thought, understanding what the man was preaching.

He heard the fire again. He rushed to his feet, trying to find where the sound was coming from. Looking up, he saw rays of light pouring through beautiful windows of stained glass. Mako knew where he was. A sinking feeling in his chest directed his eyes back to the man standing at the podium. He wanted to warn him, but nothing would leave his mouth. All he could do was reach out, try to pull him away-

The flames exploded into the open, immediately consuming the pastor. Screams from the crowd roared as they were chased by the embers. Some tried to run to the exit, but the entire building shook as if the earth itself had opened up. Parts of the ceiling tumbled to the ground, blocking the doorway and crushing those nearest to it. Mako was frozen in the middle of the chaos, none of the fire daring to touch him. A second wave of heat burst into the room, this time it emitted no light. Black as coal, the flames wrapped around Mako. Hellfire.

He tried to struggle, but even his incredible strength could not free him from its grasp. A buzz of laughter rose from the depths behind the podium, a huge swirl of black flame accompanying it. From the smoke and shadows a figure manifested, and that’s when Mako realized it was not fire holding him, but a hand. The monster was as large as the room itself. A wide grin appeared on it’s face, white ash and dust falling from it. Two long horns grew from its head and wings the size of an airplane’s encompassed the walls.

It looked right at Mako. Its eyes were orange like fire. He had never in his whole life felt small, but right now he was tiny, weak, and completely defenseless. The smell of sulfur intruded his nostrils and he felt like he would faint from it.

“You!” The devil shouted, raising Mako from the ground. Its smile widened. “You… are _mine_.” Turning back into flame, the being surged at Mako and devoured him whole.

“No!” Mako boomed. This time, he woke in his apartment. His body was paralyzed, and the ceiling looked a lot closer than it should have.

“Oh, goodie!” That scratchy voice exclaimed after a rather extensive fit of giggles. “Look what I can do!” Mako quickly realized he was not in his bed. Rather, he was floating about a meter above it. He braced himself in fear of falling, but he was securely in place.

“Put me down!” He commanded, wriggling back and forth in an attempt to regain control of himself.

“Ah, I’m just playin with ya.” He was lowered like a mother would lay a baby in its crib, slow and careful. “Isn’t it great?” Mako was allowed to sit up and see what the creature had done to his bedroom. Books were thrown on the floor, everything that had been on his desk was now stuck like a magnet to the wall, the lamp and clock on his bedstand levitated in the air, and the door to his closet flew open and shut, spitting out one clothing item at a time. “Been decades since I could do shit like this. I missed having hands! Well, sort of.”

Mako’s feeling of fear was suddenly replaced with anger. “You think this is funny!? Fucking up my things?”

“Well, yeah. Who cares about worldly materials when we got each-othah for eternity?” It let out a nazily laugh and everything in the room fell to the carpet, except for the clock which had landed in Mako’s lap. 2:56pm, it said. Mako had missed that morning’s Mass, and half the day.

“Oh, come off it.” The demon sighed. “I made sure ya called in this morning.”

“You did what?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t slander your reputation. Don’t want people catchin’ on with what you got.”

“What do I got?” Mako snarled, stressing the last word.

“You know that, my friend.” He felt a chill run up his arms, raising his hair as an electric energy filled the room. He found himself standing up. “And we got a date tonight we can’t miss.”

 

This was ridiculous. This demon was trying its best to manipulate Mako’s arms and hands to get himself dressed. He could hear the thing make sounds of frustration when it missed the button for the third time. It was clear it wasn’t used to having fingers as thick as Mako’s.

“Let me do it.” Mako spat, experiencing enough of this nonsense. He took charge and finished the job himself. He had the chance to look up at the mirror.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could-” He could see it: a hazy dark mass concentrated around his shoulder, like it was perched there. The entity seemed to realize it too and quickly dissipated, dodging Mako’s palm as he tried to grab it. It left an oily substance behind. Mako grimaced and turned his head to wipe it off, only to discover it wasn’t there. The residue could only be seen in Mako’s reflection, same with the black smoke clinging to the ceiling behind him.

“You’re tougher than you look. Not like those runts I played with before.” There was a thoughtfulness to its tone. It must have needed to reconsider some things.

Mako knew he should seize this opportunity and made a break for his living room, where his satchel laid messily on the couch. He pulled out his Holy Book and rapidly flipped through the pages. Inside he had a list of prayers; one of them had to be good for something.

“Nope!” His hands went still and the book fell to the ground. Mako immediately regretted not having those passages memorized. “C’mon, Mako! Tired of me already?”

“Fuck off.” Mako barked, somehow freeing one of his arms and digging it into his bag. There was just a small bit of holy water left in his container but it would do. He buried his teeth into the lid and yanked it right off.

The demon hissed and shrieked, Mako’s grasp on the bottle faltering. It splashed on his shirt and at his feet. He felt enraged, like the monster was projecting its own emotions onto him. His body was his own again and he fled, making sure to take his book and bag with him.

 

Mako sat at the corner booth in his favorite bar. He knew fully well what it meant for him to be sitting at this table, yet he couldn’t make himself leave. The gang wouldn’t be here for some time, so for now he was not worried. He could look at the whole venue from this angle. The bar was mostly empty save for a few drunks, but the diner had quite a bit of tables filled with people eating their dinners. A waitress had come to serve him but he insisted he didn’t want anything, even though he hadn’t eaten since the day before. Mako sorted through his book, finding different references to use when he would need it.

“ _How sweet, you remembered our date!_ ” The pencil in his hand stopped. “ _And you found the perfect spot, too._ ”

“Shut it.” Mako scooped his work up and stuffed it back in his pouch. He shuffled out of the booth but felt something pull him back.

“ _What’s the hurry? Your cute little friend should be here soon._ _You don’t want him to miss the show, do ya?_ ”

What show? Mako huffed in annoyance but glanced at his phone. 7 o’clock, right on the dot. He’d been there longer than he had thought, and sure enough the young bartender appeared behind the counter. If it was this late already, Mako needed to get out of here before-

“Oi! What’s this!?” Not a second after the group of men barged through the doors did one of them point and yell out. “You know the drill, ya dense bastard. Make room.”

Mako did not make room. “Table’s taken.” There were two other empty booths just as good as this one. He sat back, getting comfortable. The looks on their faces told Mako he’d be in trouble if he stayed, but God knows he was tired of being told what to do.

“So last night you turn tail running and now ya wanna act all high n’ mighty?” Another guy chimed in. They were feeling pretty good about themselves. A waitress hurried by and placed a drink in front of Mako, his usual. He peered behind the group and the bartender waved weakly at him.

When the men realized Mako was not actually going to move, they crowded around the booth, some leaning their weight on the table in an attempt to look large and threatening. It wasn’t working. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d let us have our spot, old man.” The guy speaking had a tattoo of a snarling doberman covering part of his face, encasing his arm and ending at the wrist. Mako assumed he was the leader of the bunch.

Mako inhaled sharply and took his drink in one huge swig, slamming it down on the table. Since when was 43 old? He stood and turned to leave. “You can have it. Smells like shit over here anyway.”

On his way passed them, one of the men jabbed Mako hard in his side with his elbow. It didn’t bother him, but the fellow who did it was the same one who shoved him the night before. He probably thought that was funny, and the group seemed pleased with their success. Mako wasn’t going to let him off the hook this time, and a huge fist crashed into the man’s face and knocked him right on his ass. The whole diner hushed as the other patrons stopped to look. It had been years since he had clocked someone, and it felt… good. Really good.

“Get him, boys!” The one with the tattoo shouted. Mako found himself surrounded, but something inside him stirred into action. Something he had thought died long ago. With every punch they threw, Mako was ready. He grabbed one of them by the fist and swung him around, flinging him into a set of table and chairs. Another guy jumped at him and Mako wrapped his hand around his head, slamming him down onto the wooden planks beneath. Some other people tried to step in and stop the violence but ended up brawling with one another. It was a good old fashioned bar fight. People shouting, destruction of property, drinks spilling, blood gushing from noses and mouths.

Mako roared, lifting two of the bikers and bringing them together hard and fast. They fell to the ground, and another three hopped on his back. He was finally being brought down. The demon’s laughter flooded his thoughts. _“Need some help?”_ Mako wanted to be irritated, but he found a laugh of his own bursting out from inside him. He was suddenly full of life, full of power. He charged forward and buried the men into the booth they loved so much. He sprung back to his feet just in time to avoid a chair being thrown at him. He took a stool from the bar and swung it back, it breaking into pieces and making the man stumble to the floor. He took a moment to look behind him at the bar, the young man with the curly brown hair was dialing frantically on his cellphone. He was calling the police.

Time to bail, Mako decided. Taking his bag from the booth, he parted his way through the few remaining brawlers. The cool air of the streets touched his blood soaked skin and he retreated into the alleyway to keep from curious eyes. It was the longer way home but he knew if the cops found him in this state it would be the end of his career. He made it to a clearing and fell to his knees. His inhaler, he needed his inhaler. He dumped the contents of his bag and found it fast. After a strong breather, his eyes fell on the notes he took earlier. It was time.

“That was incredible!” The voice came back. “I really struck gold with you, mate. I barely had to lift a finger.” Shadows from the alley crept around him, swirling into a twister of smoke and lightning. Mako hurried to grab the papers but the flurry of wind blew them out of his reach and into the sky.

“What a shitty priest, you are!” Its cackling grew distorted, like multiple voices were speaking at once. The twister collapsed to the ground, compressing itself into a large black disc. “All you had to do was be yourself. A monster, like me. And now... I’m finally back!”

Mako watched as a giant clawed hand shot through the smoke, planting itself firmly into the bricks above. It pulled, and the face Mako saw in his dreams rose out from the depths. The eyes of fire, the two horns, and a mouth of ash breaking into a wide, glowing grin.

“Mother of God…” Mako choked, eyes glued to the creature and mouth agap in disbelief. He couldn’t remember the prayer he needed, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. “To repulse the acts of the devil, God arises; His enemies are scattered. As smoke is driven away, so they are driven....” The grin only grew wider.

“You’re fucking it up, big boy! You don’t know _shit_.”

“May Thy mercy, Lord, descend upon us!” He stood up, mustering all his strength to stay confident. “We drive you from us, unclean spirits!”

“You have to mean it! Hah!” It brought its other shoulder out from underneath, squeezing its arm up and over its head. It dropped it down to the concrete with a loud thud, the claws cracking into the pavement.

“Damn….” Mako wanted to mean it, but the demon was right. He was a shitty priest. It pulled hard, shimmying its chest through the opening. The wings outstretched and concealed any exit Mako could have taken. The sky thundered, the earth shook, and the devil laughed.

“Your name!” Mako yelled.

“What?”

“What is your name, beast!?”

The demon paused, curious. It tilted its head and smirked. “Fawkes. Jamison Fawkes.”

Odd name for a demon, but this was his last chance. Mako reached into his pocket and retrieved a matchbox. He didn’t waste his time lighting one of them and letting it fall to the ground. It burned in streaks, following a pattern of lines and curves until a complete shape came into view. The smile on the monster disappeared, replaced with a look of shock. Two perpendicular lines encased in a circle. The cross of Christ. Mako had the upperhand.

“Jamison Fawkes, return to the firey depths. Back to where you belong!”

“No! No, no, no!” The smoke began to rotate once more, building itself like a wall around the spirit. “Stop! I can’t go back! You don’t understand-” Shackles sprung from the smoke and clasped around its wrists, yanking it down into the haze. Mako couldn’t see through it, but the monster’s screams were ringing painfully in his ears. In one last bang of thunder, the smoke folded into itself, absorbing the beast and the fire. The lightning that lit the alleyway before was gone, leaving everything in a silent darkness.

It took a moment for Mako’s heart to calm down. His body shook from exhaustion, covered in blood, sweat, and ash. Relieved, he bent down to pick up his things. He would need to pay more attention to Mass after this...

A hushed whimper tore him away from that thought. “Hck-…. Fuck…” Someone nearby was in pain, cursing as they tried to suppress their sobs. Mako couldn’t see where the sounds were coming from. He fished his cell phone from his bag and turned on the light.

“Now you’ve done it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> 8)
> 
> Please keep those comments coming guys, it really helps me know how I'm doing. It's really nice talking with y'all!


	4. Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You botched the whole thing. Now look at me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

“You botched the whole thing.” The massive, terrifying demon laid in a small, naked heap in the center of the alley. It twitched like a dying sewer rat, its right arm and leg torn off at the knee and elbow. It was thin and disgusting, blood of black seeping from its mouth and wounds. The monster’s skin was pale and dusted with freckles, unlike the hellfire coating from before. Its bleached hair drew back in an exaggerated widow’s peak, slick with sweat and oil. It had a tail and a pair of puny wings wrapped around its middle. It struggled to sit up, the sharp claws on its hand digging into the rubble. “Now look at me.”

Locked shackles clung to its wrist and ankle, the chains ended short but that didn’t seem to matter to the creature. Tears swelled in the pits of its eyes and it bared its sharp teeth. Its pointed ears bent down like an aggravated animal.

Mako didn’t know how to feel. Disgusted was an understatement. Glad, to an extent, ‘cause the fucker deserved it for putting Mako through hell for as long as it did, for killing those people at that church, for risking his job. He could grab it if we wanted to. Choke it. Would that kill it? He could find out. He knelt down and the sorry pile of bones withdrew on itself, coiling as if it were a snake.

“Why are you still here?” Mako asked. Any fear or respect he held for the thing was gone, replaced with what he could only call pity.

“You told me to go back where I belonged. Don’t belong down there, I guess. Maybe part of me did.” It shakily pulled its ruined arm up, wincing in pain as it did. It must have decided that was a bad idea and put the dangling mess back down. The demon sniffed the ground beneath it where the cross had burned. “What is this? Anointing oil? Clever.”

Mako scratched the scruff on his chin. He doubted Fawkes could do any trouble in this state. It’d probably die here. Mako stood and turned away from the mess. He needed to head home and clean up his apartment.

“Wait- wait wait! Where’re ya goin’? You just gonna leave me ‘ere?” It tried to turn its head around. One of its horns had snapped in half, most likely causing a unwelcome imbalance.

Mako was not planning to answer it, until he heard a dragging sound and a pained grunt. He looked back; the chains on the monster’s wrist stretched up and in the direction he was walking. What? He inspected himself and couldn’t find any where a chain had attached. He tested by raising his arm above his head and watched the arm of the demon raise with it. He yanked, and Fawkes got pulled along too. It let out a sob and tried to resist, but it didn’t have the strength.

The sniffling grew into a forced laughter. “How’s that saying go?” It struggled to bring its head up, smirking at Mako and spitting onto the ground. “First take the plank out of your own eye, then the sawdust from your brother’s?” Mako recognized the scripture. “The big guy in the sky must not like a dirty priest usin’ His name.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Just sayin’. It’s not like this was part of _my_ plan. Or your’s. So…”

Mako scoffed. He ignored the creature and kept walking. The sounds of dragging flesh and cries of pain ultimately made him stop. He looked up to the sky. Fuck you, he thought. He turned back.

 

Mako did not think he deserved this, carrying the spawn of Satan down the streets bridal style. It was shivering intensely, its skin clammy and gross. The demon cradled its damaged limbs tenderly and stared down at the sidewalk. Although the streetlights made it easier to see, Mako did not dare look for too long at Fawkes. The sight of it made his stomach churn. It could probably tell, as it held the sharp end of its tail firmly against Mako’s jugular to ensure it wouldn’t be dropped.

Once inside his apartment, Mako went straight for the washroom. He wasn’t going to let the thing ooze all over his carpet or furniture, so the tub would do. Of course that meant he couldn’t shower, but he was fine with freshening up with a towel and the sink. He’s gotta get this blood off of him somehow.

Mako pulled off his shirt and tossed it directly into the garbage; he knew it would be worthless to try to get the stains out. He heard something wet behind him snap and thunk on the porcelain. He didn’t want to look at what Fawkes was doing; he could guess.

“You ‘n me are stuck together now, huh?” Its voice was throaty like it was trying to keep from vomiting. The task of cleaning one’s own severed limbs must be hard work, and it was probably wanting a distraction. This was weird. Too casual.

“Mmm,” Mako confirmed. He reached for a rag and saw something on his wrist: three faded black lines going all the way around in a band. He tried to rub them off with his thumb, but the ink wouldn’t smudge. He wasn’t unfamiliar with tattoos; he had a big one right on his stomach from his biking days. “Wild Hog Power,” the ribbons said, sandwiching a cartoon pig and motorcycle handlebars. He had gotten it thinking it was bad ass. It was. But this one would be harder to conceal. He’d have to wear a long sleeve shirt to work every day, which wasn’t too bad of an issue with winter quickly approaching. He wasn’t going to enjoy it during the summer, though… but who said he’d still have this problem that far in the future?

Mako needed to find a way to be rid of this pest. Father Luke did say he would help if he needed it. The thought of him finding out Mako had a demon bound to him made him cringe. No, he’d do it on his own. He could apply for exorcism certification, learn how to do it himself. The right way.

“Any chance you could lend a hand over ‘ere?”

“No.” Pathetic. He ran the soapy cloth under the water from the faucet, scrubbing the blood from his face, hands, and chest.

The figure behind him fumbled a bit to find a stronger position. “I said…  _Lend a Hand_.” Mako knew what it was trying to do but that wasn’t going to work anymore. Fawkes realized this and let out a childish whine.

“Damn this mortal body...” it mewled, falling back in the tub dramatically.

Mortal? So Mako _could_ kill it. He headed straight for the creature, not wasting a moment. It knew it was in trouble and scurried as far as it could away from Mako’s grasp. But all that did was back itself into a corner, and Mako easily took its skinny neck into his fingers. He squeezed. Hard.

The demon choked out a raspy yell and dug its nails deep into the back of Mako’s hand. He wasn’t going to let that stop him. He watched the orange of Fawkes’ eyes ignite and flutter, their focus fading and its resistance ceasing. Mako released the beast as a searing pain overtook his right arm; the markings on his wrist illuminated a bright red color, burning thoroughly into his skin and down to the bone.

Mako gnarled and clamped his fist as tight as he could to try and lessen the intensity. A breathy laugh exploded out from the tub, the demon was barely conscious but the sight of Mako being unable to finish the job had it in hysterics.

“Weak!” It shouted between coughing fits.

Mako did not appreciate being called something so false.

“What did you do!?” He took Fawkes’ throat back in his hand, presenting the glowing marks.

“N-nothin’, mate! Swear!” It sputtered, still catching its breath. Its eyes were wide with genuine surprise. Mako felt the heat begin to subside. He was giving this thing too much of his attention. Letting go, he used the side of the tub to stand himself back up.

“Wait-!” Fawkes reached out and pulled on the leg of Mako’s jeans. That earned him nothing more than a glare, so it let go.

“Listen, buddy. _Pal._ ” It spat the word from a sarcastic grin. “All this shit is your fault. If we’re gonna get along the least you could do is-”

Mako turned the knob and a fountain of water shot out from the shower head. Fawkes screeched and kicked, slipping as the bottom of the tub became slick. Mako slammed the shower door and the poor creature looked at him with eyes like a wet cat.

“Get clean,” he told it.

 

Luckily Mako still had a med kit stashed away in the kitchen for emergencies. Habit, he supposed. The demon did not like the idea of Mako sewing the flaps of its skin together, complaining loudly about it hurting and that Mako was trying to kill it again. As much as Mako didn’t like it, Fawkes was right. They did need to get along, at least until Mako figured out how to get rid of it.

After much persistence, the job was done. The chunks of bone and flesh that didn’t go down the drain were wrapped up in a trash bag, ready to be brought out to the dumpster. Fawkes was stitched and bandaged as good as Mako could manage. The squirmy fuck.

  
Mako left it in the shower so he could tend to the mess it had made in his bedroom and workspace. He was relieved to find nothing broken, and it didn’t take long to sort through it all and put things back in their proper places. When he returned to the bathroom he was surprised to see the demon fast asleep; he was more surprised to see it had somehow gotten all of the clean towels from the cabinet and made a nest for itself in the tub. He tried to picture it hopping on one foot and carrying everything back with just the single arm. Not impossible, he concluded. He made an effort to get ready for bed as quietly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> SURPRISE! This is part one of a two chapter update.  
> The real story begins here. KEEP GOING → → → → →


	5. Mold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako had one of the best nights of sleep in his life. At least it felt like it. No dreams of fire or burning churches. No dreams at all, actually. A vague scratching sound roused him from his slumber. He tried to ignore it, thinking it was the neighbor’s dog or someone working on the new row of townhouses across the street. Wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

Mako had one of the best nights of sleep in his life. At least it felt like it. No dreams of fire or burning churches. No dreams at all, actually. A vague scratching sound roused him from his slumber. He tried to ignore it, thinking it was the neighbor’s dog or someone working on the new row of townhouses across the street. Wait.

He flung the door to the bathroom open. His house guest yipped and spun around, getting its foot caught in its nest and tripping into the glass door. There was no shatter, but the slam was loud and left the demon rubbing his shoulder and scrunching its face. Dark bruises lined its neck from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Mako snapped. There were rows of tallies carved into the shower tiles.

“Just countin’ the hours you’re keepin’ me prisoner in this cursed bathtub,” it wailed, rubbing away fake tears and laying back on the pile of towels in a display of agony.

“I never said... “ Mako pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache he felt starting. He could already see the extra charges adding up when his lease runs out next month. “You don’t have to stay in there.”

Fawkes perked up almost instantly. “Carry me?”

Mako left the room.

Today was the one day of the week where Mako did not have to spin an excuse to get out of work. He had a routine for is day off, and the first thing on the list was to have a big, homemade breakfast all to himself. His kitchen was basic like the rest of his apartment, but it was big enough for him to maneuver around in and that’s all that mattered. Normally this was a chance for Mako to relax and unwind, but the incessant whining coming from the other room had him increasingly on edge.

Mako couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this irritated. Fawkes grinned with those gnarly teeth, feeling very full of itself no doubt.

“Am I that irresistible?” Fawkes teased when Mako finally took it in his arms. He wasn’t going to give the thing the satisfaction. Over his shoulder it went, like a sack of flour, until it was roughly dumped on the living room’s carpet with a short “oof.” He didn’t want its naked ass rubbing all over his sofa.

“Sit.” Mako pointed at the ground firmly before turning back towards the attached kitchen.

“Oh, or what? Ya gonna put me outside like a dog?” Fawkes cackled, crawling up to the breakfast bar. Mako ignored it, that was what he was going to do. The Devil had no power if no one paid attention to it. He took out a frying pan and sprayed it down with oil, grabbing a few mixing bowls as well.

“Hey! Whatcha makin’?” It pulled itself up on one of the stools. Don’t look at it, don’t look at it. Pretend it’s not there. Mako opened the fridge door, expecting to be hit with a rush of cold like usual. There was no rush. The lights had gone out, and if he looked close enough he could see… something moving. He reached for the egg carton and flipped it open. Maggots swarmed the insides, wiggling out of the shells as soon as they were given the extra space. Mako jumped back. They were in the cheese, in the vegetables, in the milk. It hadn’t been that long since he’d gone shopping… Had it?

“That’s disgusting, mate. Eatin’ bugs for breakfast? Gross.” Of course. Mako had been sick his last day off and forgot to restock his fridge. The little shit sitting at the counter had curbed Mako’s appetite so bad he barely ate anything more than the occasional microwave dinner. He pushed the door shut, deciding to clean it out later. He held onto the sides of the fridge and pulled, it screeching loudly against the tiled floor. It was unplugged. Wonder who did that?

“I’m going out,” Mako announced after the fridge was back in working order.

“You mean: We’re going out.” Fawked corrected with a crooked smirk, jangling the chains on its wrist. Right.

Mako dug through the clothes in his closet. They weren’t for him, no. He was already showered and dressed. He wasn’t about to let his new shadow roam the streets without a shirt on. It was so skinny, nothing Mako had would fit remotely well but given the options, it would have to do. He presented Fawkes with a pair of drawstring pants and an old, patched-up pullover.

“What’s that for?” It asked, eyeing the stack Mako held out.

“We’re not leaving unless you cover up.”

“Oh, too bad! Not like I gotta go anywhere anytime soon anyways. Bet you’ll starve though. What a shame.” It crossed its arms, still weary of its fresh stump.

“You’re hungry, too.”

“What? Am not.” It drew its arms in tighter, holding onto its stomach.

“You may be a demon, but you’re shit at lying.”

Fawkes seemed offended. It probably would have rebutted if it weren’t for the slow, creaking growl coming from the spot it was trying to hide. Mako won this round.

 

Whatever sense of victory Mako had experienced died the moment they left the apartment. Fawkes couldn’t walk, and that meant the only way it’d be getting around would be hanging off of Mako’s back. He expected to face odd glances and stares as he walked down the city block, but for whether or not he actually got them he did not know. He wasn’t in the business of making eye contact with random passerbys. The hood of Fawkes’ jacket fit over its ears, but nothing would be able to hide the two black protrusions coming from its forehead. They were decorated with golden bands at the base, reflecting the light from the morning sun. If it could catch Mako’s attention, it surely caught other’s. He prayed anyone who saw would assume Fawkes to be just some nutty cosplayer.

Mako was sure to keep to the other side of the street when he passed the bar. It wasn’t open this early, and he doubted it would be open anytime soon with the current state the diner was in, but God knew he was going to avoid it like the plague. The cafe he intended on visiting was just a few buildings down from it.

 

“Coffee, extra cream and sugar.” The server quickly jotted Mako’s order down and hurried away. This place was always packed at this hour, and they were fortunate to find a two person table towards the back. It was a cute place, but Mako didn’t want to spend more time here than needed.

“And I want- Ey!” Fawkes stood on its good foot as if it were about to run after them.

“Behave.” Mako easily reached across the table and forced the creature down. He opened the straw the waiter had given them and popped it in his glass, doing the same for Fawkes without an extra thought. It slipped down in its chair and reserved itself to people watching. He’d look at one person, giggle quietly to himself, then move on to another to do the same.

“What’re you doing?” Mako had to ask. He took a small plastic bag of crackers from the bowl in front of them, carefully pulling it open.

“Lookin’ at skeletons.”

He stopped himself from taking his first handful. X-ray vision? Fawkes practically howled at the face Mako gave it.

“Not their boney bits, ya lug! In their closets. Look look, see.” It’s finger jabbed towards a young woman the booth over, typing vigorously at her laptop with her food untouched. “Lives with her sister. Keeps bringin’ friends over, leaves their place a mess, late on rent. Hates the bitch. Don’t have the balls to tell her to fuck off.” It had a wild grin as it spun around in its seat, motioning at a couple sitting close to the exit. “And- and, he’s fucked her brother. She don’t know, wants to get married. He’d rather die.” Fawkes threw its head back and spat out a laugh.

“Didn’t know other people’s misfortunes were supposed to be funny,” Mako interrupted, pouring the rest of the contents of the bag into his mouth.

“Course they are. Humans have such petty problems, act like everything’s such a big deal. Who’s gonna care in the end? No one. They all rot in ‘ell.” It sounded… bitter. Mako nearly asked why, thankful that the server came back with his coffee.

“Finally! You left without takin’ me order. I want-”

“Are we still waiting for your number two, sir?” They had a friendly smile on their face.

“No, I…” Mako looked at Fawkes; it practically steamed from the ears. “We had to cancel. I’ll take two specials.” No one would dare look at him funny for ordering that much food.

“Right away!” They left as quick as they came.

Fawkes rolled its eyes and waved its hand, slamming it down on the table. “What!? So I don’t deserve the service, is that it?”

“They couldn’t see you.” Mako took a sip of his drink, the fact brought him some comfort. Needed more sugar.

The demon snarled and sunk down in its chair again, pouting like a child. “Wonderful. Finally back in me own flesh n blood but they all just see straight through me. Ain’t no different…” It grumbled a bit more to itself but Mako couldn’t discern any of it. It’s not like he cared. The silence was welcome and the food didn’t take long to arrive.

A huge, veggie stuffed omelette paired with hashbrowns, bacon, and grits was placed on the table, accompanied with a whole other identical set. Mako didn’t know how much food the creature would want to eat, but it was a good idea to start small with a body so devoid of sustenance. He cut one of the omelettes in two, placing one half on his own plate. All the bacon went with Fawkes’ half as well as one of the bowls of grits. It watched with wide, attentive eyes as Mako portioned the food. As soon as Mako withdrew his hand from passing the plate, Fawkes dove in.

It was messy. And loud. It took all of Mako’s strength to find the will to eat his own food while watching the scene. It ate with its hand, burying its face in the food like it hadn’t eaten in its whole life. It slurped and moaned and choked and forced huge chunks down its throat at once. Mako scratched at the scabs on the back of his hand. He hoped no one was staring.

The next thing on Mako’s list was to go grocery shopping. He was already out of the house, might as well stop by the store before heading back. There was a small corner market only a few intersections away from here. The walk was much more pleasant with full stomachs. For Mako, at least.

“Bwuh… Mako…” Fawkes rested its head on the back of Mako’s neck. It hiccuped and the head of lettuce in Mako’s hand wilted. He put it back.

“Told you to slow it down, idiot.” He reached for another one, it wilting as soon as he grabbed it. At this rate it would take an hour to get this done, and he wasn’t about to let the thing spew its half digested breakfast down his shirt. Mako brought Fawkes outside and located the nearest bench. A scruffy schnauzer slept on the seat, tied securely by its leash.

“Wait here.” He deposited Fawkes, it immediately laying down next to the animal and groaning in discomfort. Mako almost felt sorry for the guy. No, it’s a monster. A thing, Mako had to remind himself. The rest of the shopping trip should go smoothly without it.

Mako had to replace everything in his fridge; he wasn’t taking any chances. In every lane he would find something he’d need, then go to the next and find something else. He was in the fourth lane when he noticed the man following him, probably a pickpocket waiting for the right moment to pass by. Mako watched him through the edge of his vision. He would pick something up, pretend to consider buying it, then put it back on the shelf. Mako would like to see him try.

By the sixth isle, Mako had enough. He came up with an idea: Pretend to be vulnerable, bait the man in close, then give him a good scare. That should teach him a lesson. Mako turned his back to the man and bent over his cart, sorting through the array of items. He stopped to read the ingredients of a coffee creamer when the man finally made his move. Mako was fast; his iron grip wrapped around the pickpocket’s forearm, pulling him up to his face.

“Careful who you fuck with, boy.” He bared his teeth, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. He could see the young man’s life flash before him.

“Y-you got it wrong!” Sweat rolled from his brow.

“No, I don’t.”

“I noticed… you have a problem, don’t ya? I can help you fix it.” He grinned hopefully, a few of his teeth were replaced with silver.

Mako was intrigued. Had this guy been following him all morning? He released the man, letting him continue.

“Thanks,” he waited for a response, and Mako didn’t give him one. “Uh… you want it gone, right? The dark spirit?”

“How?”

His face lit up before relaxing into a cool demeanor. He had a terrible poker face. “Nice of you to ask! My friends and I- we deal with matters like these. We detected the energy, found this.” He swung the pack from his shoulder in front of him and pulled out something Mako definitely recognized: the other half of Fawkes’ horn. The golden band was bright as ever, and now the man really had his attention. He smirked. “So, you do know it.”

“What do I need to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> Remember to comment!


	6. Myrrh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun set over the silhouette of the city. Clouds scattered above, reflecting the warm light into an array of different colors. The intensity of the early evening sun glared directly into Mako’s eyes as he drove down the freeway. The sunglasses he wore shielded his vision but did little to prevent the rising feeling of unsure anticipation in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

The scene before him was out of a cartoon. Fawkes had gotten itself stuck in a tree above where Mako had left it. The schnauzer tugged furiously at its restraints, barking and spitting. It could just barely reach the trunk; it scratched at the bark and tried desperately to jump up where the demon was clinging. Mako stood and watched with arms full of brown paper sacks.

“Having fun?” He commented. Fawkes ceased its hissing and turned hopeful eyes towards Mako, slipping slightly but catching itself.

“It-it ain’t my fault! Little shit went berserk.”

A woman came running from the salon next door and frantically pulled back the dog, her curly hair tangled with foil and pieces of foam separating her freshly painted toe nails.

“So sorry, sir… she’s not normally like this!” Once in the woman’s arms, the animal whined and bucked in an attempt to escape her grasp.

“Not a problem,” Mako assured her as she retreated back to the salon, no doubt embarrassed. He only had a moment to look back at the tree before Fawkes came crashing down to the shrubs below. Mako had to keep himself from wondering how the fuck it managed to get up there in the first place.

“Guess it don’t like gettin’ pet behind tha ears. What kind of dog don’t like that?” It crawled out onto the concrete and passively brushed the dirt off of itself. A twig was lodged in its messy hair and Mako fought the urge to pull it out. “Took you so long anyway?”

Mako put down one of the bags and hoisted Fawkes over his shoulder. “Had to make an appointment.” In his pocket was a card with an address written on it. He didn’t want to find out what Fawkes would do if he discovered what he was planning, so he opted not to say. It’d find out soon enough.

 

The rest of the daylight was spent throwing out all the rotten food from Mako’s fridge, scrubbing it from top to bottom, and reloading it with fresh replacements. It gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction knowing the fridge was clean and practically good as new. While he did this and his list of other chores, like washing all the towels Fawkes had dirtied in its nest, Mako left the demon to sit on the couch. He was happy Fawkes had a fascination with the television; it kept switching channels and fumbling with the picture and sound settings. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed after tonight…

The sun set over the silhouette of the city. Clouds scattered above, reflecting the warm light into an array of different colors. The intensity of the early evening sun glared directly into Mako’s eyes as he drove down the freeway. The sunglasses he wore shielded his vision but did little to prevent the rising feeling of unsure anticipation in his chest. The man he met at the market claimed to know how to banish the demon and free Mako from his curse. Conor was his name, but that’s all the personal information he gave. Mako was sure this person wasn’t catholic, but whatever ritual or power that could rid him of this problem was welcome in his book.

Fawkes sat in the passenger seat with its legs curled up. It looked small in the clothes Mako lent it, but its body was long, probably only a foot or so shorter than his own height. The truck’s radio had mysteriously began working again, but they rode in silence - Fawkes would reach over and change the station at the tip of a hat so Mako had turned it off. It gave him the opportunity to think about what he could be getting himself into.

 

“What’s supposed to be all the way out ‘ere?” Fawkes shot, hopping out of the vehicle. It leaned on the door to wait for Mako, climbing on his back once he was close enough. The property they arrived at was overgrown with greenery. It wrapped around a small house like vines and littered the stone that led to the front door. It cracked as if it were dead under Mako’s feet. The air smelt sweet like cinnamon, but it was mixed with something else that Mako felt like he should recognize.

“I got us some help.” The wood of the front porch was old and complained loudly at having to carry the extra weight.

“Help? With what?” Fawkes pulled back in protest, kicking the claws of his foot into Mako’s side. The door opened before he could answer.

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home,” a voice called out. The light of day had mostly subsided, and it was even darker inside. Mako felt something within him telling him to turn back, but he was stubborn. He ducked his head down and stepped inside. The door slammed behind him and a blunt object whacked at the back of his head, stars invading his vision as he fell.

“Mako! Fuck-” There was another bang and the shuffling of feet. The stars went blurry and what little remained of his consciousness faded away.

 

Mako stirred. He swore he could hear someone shouting at him. Calling for him. It was hard to make out, but the voice echoed loudly. The ground underneath him was cold and hard, it felt gritty against his face. His eyes slid open in hope of discerning where he was, but the room was just as black as the underside of his eye lids.

The voice called again, and Mako snapped awake. He had been attacked. His arms were bound together behind him, the marks on his wrist flared and burned. Mako mustered out a yell as he came back to life.

“Finally,” someone on the far side of the room spoke up. Their voice was hard to hear, and Mako quickly realized it was being drowned under waves of white noise; he couldn’t figure out the source. “Don’t know how you did it, but that spirit is stuck to you like velcro.” The voice was feminine, and she sounded impressed. “Only, we can’t figure out how to tear you apart.”

The pain in Mako’s wrist spiked and the white noise turned into a screech. Was that Fawkes? His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but all he could see was stone, dirt, and the small puddle of dried blood where his face had been resting. Fawkes must be in another… cave? They were underground.

“We were just going to take it, leave you out here. But our rituals have no effect.” A pair of footsteps approached Mako, he could still smell the cinnamon. “Tell us how you did it.”

Mako choked out a laugh. “I don’t know. Why would I come to you if I did?”

“A spell this strong can’t be an accident, Father Rutledge.” She knew who he was.

“Said I don’t know.”

The woman hummed, trying to hide her frustration. “This is unheard of. You took an immortal’s immortality and manifested it as an unbreakable bond. If it wasn’t you, a power much greater must have intervened.”

The screaming grew quiet, giving way to the sound of boots scuffling down the corridor. Mako flinched as the room filled with a bright, dancing light.

“Still nothing,” That was Conor’s voice. He stood with four other figures, all wearing robes and carrying sticks of fire. Mako couldn’t explain the sudden rush of concern that overtook him. What had they been doing to Fawkes?

“We have one more trick in our arsenal.” Mako turned his head and saw the woman who had been keeping watch on him. She was tall, wore a black robe like the others but with golden details around her waist, neck, and wrists. Her eyes shown the same color, almost glowing in contrast to her dark brown skin. If Mako didn’t know better, he’d say he was in the presence of a witch. “Take him, boys.”

Two of the men went to pull Mako to his feet, but he pushed them away. He’d stand on his own. The light from the torches reflected against the puddles of water that scattered down the cavern, creating flickering specks of orange. The display made Mako’s head throb, but he continued down the path. The hall gave way to a huge clearing. Along the walls were hundreds of candles, their flames softly twinkling in unison. The early morning sky peered through gaping fissures above; it was cloudy and the scent of rain accompanied the breeze. Mako had been out of commission all night.

In the center of the opening a familiar mess of a creature laid naked and sprawled on its back. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of its chest, Mako would have assumed it was dead. Surrounding Fawkes were a number of symbols drawn in a spiral, some with chalk, others carved directly into the stone, and a few inked with what must have been animal blood. Mako guessed it was from the dead sheep tossed in the far corner of the room.

He made it this far without getting shoved, but Mako was quickly forced down to his knees in front of the spiral. More hooded figures were in position around the illustrated patterns.

“A being of pure evil,” the woman announced. Mako knew this about Fawkes, but at the moment all he could see when looking at the monster’s face was an expression of pain. Dried tears and drool stuck to its cheeks from the hours Mako had been unconscious. It felt wrong. Cruel.

“But also a being of immense power. We’re in the business of collecting such artifacts. What you have here is priceless, so rare to discover in this condition,” she explained. “If word got out of its existence, countless forces would emerge to try and take it.” The woman pulled an emerald-encrusted dagger from her sleeve. The blade was black, images of the candlelight shining off its asymmetrical shape. “That is why we will take it before they do. You are not strong enough to fight them.”

She moved towards him. Mako tried to back away, but the men behind him held him firm. Shit. He was going to die here. If God had meant to punish him with the demon’s presence, it was definitely working. Maybe too well. He felt the cold metal press against his jaw.

“All of our methods have failed. The only thing left is to manually sever the bond. ‘Till Death do Us Part.’ It’s the only way-”

“Mmmako…” a snarling voice erupted from the demon. “It’s always your fucking fault.” All eyes fell to the center of the room. Fawkes effortlessly brought its body up to a seated position, almost like strings had attached and lifted it from the ground. Blood coated its fingertips and dripped copiously from its right shoulder.

The cultists were not prepared for this: A burst of wind sucked the fire from the candles and torches, only the faint light from the thundering sky remaining. The wicks did not stay unlit for long; black flames quickly igniting in an intense heat. Hellfire had a mind of its own; it divided into dozens of miniature twisters and lept towards the members. They screamed, some ran for the exit, and the woman was nowhere to be found. Mako felt light headed, the heat of the fire making it hard to breathe. He could barely make out the form of a figure walking calmly towards him. It reached out a hand, and the throbbing in Mako’s skull overtook his consciousness once more.

 

“Fuck it all,” Fawkes complained, out of breath. Mako woke to find himself lying in the entrance of the small house. Light from the clearing sky illuminated the space, revealing a large trap door leading into where that cavern must have been. Fawkes had its arms hooked underneath Mako’s and pulled with all its might, heels digging into the ground for some hope of traction. Mako went rigid. Arm _s_? Heel _s_?

“Fawkes,” Mako felt the demon stop tugging, it scrambling in front of him with a cocky grin on its face. Its right arm and leg were indeed intact. Instead of flesh and bone, they looked to be made of… the closest thing Mako could think of was burnt wood. Black, rough and ashy, with freckles of burning embers.

“You saw that roight? All those bastards’ faces melted straight off!” It laughed. Mako didn’t understand how this thing could have so much positivity after he basically tried to have it killed. “Good thing you’re up. Don’t think I coulda dragged you the resta the way.”

“Fawkes…”

“Oh! Thank ya for saving me life!” the demon mocked. “You were so clevah, makin’ the best of my mistakes yet again!”

“Fawkes.”

“Please, mate. Name’s Jamison.”

Mako all but growled in response.

“What? Spit it out, then.”

Mako grabbed him by the throat. “Could you do that this whole time?” he asked through his teeth.

Jamison’s eyes got big. “Y-you mean the hellfire? Can only do it with fresh blood and the right words. Stuck doin’ it the ol’ fashioned way for now.” Mako glanced at the wound he had clawed into himself: a pentagram.

“Not that, idiot. You can walk.”

Those fiery dots flared in realization, darting downwards to the new prosthetics he sported. Jamison smiled coyly at Mako, the limbs vanishing in a puff of smoke. Definitely shit at lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> Shit's gettin real. Please remember to comment, I love talking with you all <3


	7. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Serious, ya know.” Jamison’s voice lowered, his eyes burning into Mako’s as if he were looking directly into the sun. “I’m stuck to you as much as you’re stuck to me. If I go anywhere so do you. That includes Hell, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

It was becoming a common occurrence: Mako standing in front of his mirror and tending to the bloody mess he kept accumulating. He was able to remove most of the dried chunks from his hair in the shower, and a good brushing left it cool and soft. He had moved on to patching up the shallow scrapes the rough ground had embedded in his cheek when he noticed the pair of black eyes peering through the crack of the door. Mako had instructed Jamison to wait his turn, to use the sink in the kitchen to clean off if he must. Looked like he wasn’t in the mood to be patient.

“What is it?” Mako sighed, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He heard the demon choke on some spit and shuffle his feet on the carpet. Mako thought that was a sign of embarrassment from Jamison and hoped he would retreat to the living room, but unfortunately for him it was the opposite.

“Makin’ sure you’re not scheming anythin’ back ‘ere.” Jamison stood in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing his most accusing expression. “Almost like I can’t leave ya on your lonesome without you coming up with some nasty plot to get rid o’ me.”

He wasn't wrong. Mako had eagerly taken every opportunity he was blessed with to figure out a way to free himself, but no matter what he did it would backfire. He was done guessing and taking chances. As much as he dreaded it, he would have to learn to live with Jamison at least until he heard back from his application. That could take weeks, and even then he would have to undertake training and certification.

“C’mere.” Mako motioned towards the sink, patting his hand on the counter. Jamison seemed unsure. He had good reason, too; the truck ride back was far from pleasant. If Mako hadn’t felt so guilty, for lack of a better word, for subjecting Jamison to who knows what those people tried on him, he would have punched the guy into next week. Mako made that very clear. To think he was played so easily into lugging Jamison around on his back all day made him fume.

“Don’t want an infection, do you?” Mako urged. That earned him a suspicious glance, but Jamison resigned and made his way over. The claws on his feet clicked lightly on the tile. Sure, Mako had almost gotten the creature killed. Again. But as far as he was concerned, Mako and Jamison were even. The little shit needed to learn to stop messing with him.

Mako got to work as soon as Jamison hoisted himself up on the counter. The damp rag was cold on Jamison’s skin; Mako could see a chill run up his spine and goosebumps blossom on his arm. The blood flaked off easily, staining the towel gray. Something else he would need to throw in the garbage.

“Serious, ya know.” Jamison’s voice lowered, his eyes burning into Mako’s as if he were looking directly into the sun. “I’m stuck to you as much as you’re stuck to me. If I go anywhere so do you. That includes Hell, mate.”

Mako exhaled sharply. “Till death do us part?”

A quick snicker from Jamison lightened the heavy atmosphere. “Bullshit, we ain’t married.” He flinched as Mako dabbed the alcohol-soaked cotton pad onto his open skin. “Golden Gal didn’t have her head on straight, she woulda killed the both of us doin’ that- Ow! Ow, ow, ow…” He tried to pull away but Mako held him firm.

“Wimp.”

“Fuck off, ya cunt.”

Mako caught himself grinning. Oh no. A rush of panic washed over him; Jamison must have gotten inside his head again. Mako had spent too much of the last decade shoving down any hope of forming human attachments to let himself be so vulnerable. But this thing wasn’t human, right? He was a demon. Cunning, manipulative; he probably knew how to press all of Mako’s buttons. At least, this was what his brain was telling him. His gut said something different.

Whatever that was, Mako didn’t want any part of it.

 

It was worse than what Mako had feared. His phone had died at some point during his time out cold the previous night, charging up and turning on the device opened a floodgate of notifications. Mako could barely click on the first one before it vibrated in his hand. Shit, the church was calling. Of course they would be; Mako had missed half a day’s worth of work without any type of warning.

The voice on the other end belonged to the Ministry Assistant. She sounded relieved to hear Mako’s voice, and he could hardly make out a hushed series of mumbling in the background. He fucked up. They had been so concerned they had nearly sent the police to his apartment, and that would have been catastrophic.

Mako spared a quick glance towards the living room sofa; Jamison was sprawled out lazily on top of it, fresh bandages covering his shoulder and stumps. Another day another excuse. He had been mugged the night before, he explained, got knocked in the back of the head and had the gash to show it. Didn’t lose much as he only had a few bills in his wallet, but he had somehow slept in passed his alarm. Feared a concussion, would see a doctor. No big deal. He’d make it to work tomorrow for sure.

The assistant seemed to accept the story, but if he were honest, Mako would have a hard time believing it himself. It would no doubt come back to bite him in the ass later. He hung up and pressed his thumbs over his temples to relieve the slight headache forming behind his eyes. Damn. Work, that’s right. He’d have to take Jamison with him.

 

“So when they realised I could just bite my way outta the rope, they tried muzzlin- so I’d claw my way out. Ended up burnin’ so much incense I couldn’t even think. Those guys know their stuff, had spells practically spillin’ out their ears-” Mako instantly regretted bringing up the events from the night before. Jamison took it as an invitation to blab about the “torturin’” he had been subjected to. This was no conversation to be having over dinner. Late lunch, whatever it was. Mako just knew they both were exhausted and needed food before an early bedtime.

“Couldn’t do nothin’ for myself no more. Thought my last chance was callin’ for help. Didn’t think you’d actually come, seein’ you was the one who put me there.” Jamison pushed around the fish sticks and boiled carrots on his plate with his fork. He’d only eaten a few grains of rice, and Mako wondered if he was afraid of getting sick again. “Really, Mako. You’ve got a talent. Any plans I got go spiralin’ down the drain ‘cause of you.”

“I’m a priest. It’s my job,” Mako interjected. Jamison spit out a laugh. He slammed his fork down and threw his head back, cradling his stomach like that was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Yes, that it is.” He wiped a lone tear from the corner of his eye, a few breathy giggles escaping.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Mako jabbed his fork towards Jamison, feeling his cheeks begin to burn.

“Just don’t get it, is all.” Jamison chose now of all moments to shove two carrots in his mouth. “Your skeleton, mate. It ain’t in your closet, it’s in that garage you keep meanin’ to clean out. On the other side a’ town?”

It took a second for Mako to realize his mouth had dropped open. He knew what Jamison was talking about, and he had been trying his hardest to forget.

“You got no right digging around in my head.”

“Can’t help it. Lived up there for days ‘till I could make my grand escape,” he winked, “had to get my leverage somehow.” That was said so matter-of-factly that Mako almost didn’t feel offended that his privacy had been completely disregarded. How much did this guy find out?

“Just sayin’. A job like yours ain’t no job for a guy that hates followin’ orders.”

“I got my reasons.”

“Yeah, and they’re shit. You know it. Shouldn’t run away from who you are. What you did.” Jamison’s cheeky grin was gone.

“I’m not running away. God forgave me long ago.”

“Bullshit. He doesn’t give a single fuck. No one does but you, mate. That collar you wear don’t mean a thing.”

Mako stood, his chair screeching against the tile and nearly knocking itself over. “I’m not listening to some devil.”

“Clearly not!” Jamison was on his feet in almost no time at all. “Ever since I got ‘ere you haven’t given me the time of day. You treat me like some sick animal your snotty brat won’t let you put down.”

“Right. And that’s all you’ll ever be: a fucked up abomination. You were never meant to live on this earth.”

That must have struck a chord. Jamison practically lept over the small breakfast table, diving straight into Mako’s gut and bringing them both crashing to the ground. The creature snarled through bared teeth, pinning Mako down with all of his strength. Skinny as he was, Jamison was fast. Mako was still processing that he had fallen when a barrage of fists slammed down on him. Mako snaked his arms around Jamison’s legs and held fast onto his wrists, keeping them from moving freely.

Mako put a stop to his reflex to headbutt the guy, remembering it probably wasn’t a good idea to smash his skull against a pair of horns. In that moment of hesitation, something small and wet dripped between his eyes. Jamison was… Was he crying? His lips quivered and his brows squeezed together in an effort to fight back the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Fuck you!” His body shivered roughly on top of Mako’s stomach. “I sacrificed everything! Everything, so I could come back. Y-you were my ticket. My lucky break,” he chuckled through his shudders. Mako softened his grip, letting go so Jamison could wipe away the wetness falling from his face. “I wasn’t always like this, ya know. Used to be like you: A lost soul looking to a higher power to solve his problems. Worst mistake of my fucking life. What little of it I had.”

Shit.

“And here I am, born again by some miracle, tied to a pathetic excuse of a holy man who’ll spare no expense trying to get me dead!” Jamison brought his palms down hard to Mako’s chest. Rage coursed through his body and his blond hair swayed like fire. Mako watched as a string of different emotions made their way into Jamison’s expression. Would he cry again?

“Jamison-”

“No, don’t. Don’t do that.” He stood and turned his back towards Mako. “You’ve done enough.”

“Jamison. I’m sorry.” Mako sat himself up with his elbows. Jamison’s whole body shook, like he would detonate into a fury of flames. Mako was ready to be shouted at again, but Jamison steadied himself, moving back to his seat and picking up his fork.

“Needs more salt,” he commented as if nothing had happened. Mako pulled himself up and returned to his own spot.

“Get it yourself.”

 

-

 

Snow fell heavily in violent waves. White blankets contrasted against the black abyss, no stars or city lights to clutter the midnight sky. Footsteps trudging through the freezing ground were the only sound in the quiet of the forest. They started off strong and with purpose, but as time passed they slowed down. Crunch, crunch until whoever it was halted in their tracks. The cold had finally taken its toll.

There was nothing he could do. Frozen in his footsteps, he stumbled to his knees. He was too weak to call for help, too tired to keep going. He felt the ice spread through his body and was sure death would soon follow. Another pair of footsteps. Who was that?

Looking around, all he could see was the snow covered evergreens. Something snapped. In front of him, the ground broke. Snow and dirt alike fell through the chasm, it opened so fast he feared he would be eaten by it. But it stopped. The very earth began to moan as if it were in pain, and a black fog seeped out from the crack.

His vision grew cloudy, but he tried desperately to see what mass had appeared through the mist. It was big, eyes like a spider’s reflecting in the darkness. He wanted to scream, to put up a fight, but all he could do was watch the figure hover towards him, the black film blinding him at last.

 

Mako woke covered in sweat. Not again, he groaned. Jamison had no hold on him anymore, those dreams were supposed to have ended. Whatever that was… was different. He hoped it meant nothing.

He tried to return to sleep but something caught his ear. Whimpering, maybe? Mako tried to listen closer. Jamison was resting on the couch, or so he thought. His house guest must be having a similar problem. Mako might as well go grab a glass of water while Jamison was awake.

Silently he rose from his bed, mounting a pair of slippers to warm his icy feet. He dragged himself to the other side of the room, but stopped his hand from turning the doorknob. The whimpering from the other room had turned into a low whine followed by a gasp. What was Jamison…

Oh. Mako had quickly found the answer. The lamp sitting on the arm table had been switched on. Jamison was hunched over on his knees, breathing hard and frantically pumping his good arm. Mako had assumed he just… didn’t have genitals. He had seen Jamison’s naked body up close on multiple occasions. But in his hand was something long, black, and slick.

Mako quickly shut the door and returned to his bed. His face was hot, and now he was sweating for a different reason. Jamison’s movements had been desperate, hungry, like he was racing against time. It was not unlike his voracious behavior at the cafe the day before. He was rediscovering a pleasure he most likely hadn’t indulged in for a very long time, and if Mako were honest he’d probably be doing the same thing if it were him.

He felt his pajama pants grow tighter the more he thought about it. God, what was he doing?  He wasn’t about to jack it to the fact that there was someone else in his apartment doing just that. No. Mako rolled to his side and tried to drown out the sounds of desire emanating from the other room. They got louder, more needy, until-

Fuck. A feeling of euphoria thundered in his mind, and Mako could almost see the lightning behind his eyelids. He’d never experienced this before. There was a tent in his pants and he’d be some kind of Saint to ignore it. Hah.

He reached down and took his full cock in his grasp, squeezing its girth and rubbing his thumb in soft circles on its head. It already dripped with precum, feeling wet and slippery against his rough fingertips. The lightning had gone directly to his crotch, and with only a few drawn out pumps he found release. It was good. Really good, yet he couldn’t explain why. Cum covered his hand and the inside of his underwear, so he reluctantly got up to clean off in the attached bathroom.

He took one look in the mirror at his blushed, sweaty exterior and knew. He was doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> This was supposed to just be filler but OOPS I guess. A longer chapter this time. Please remember to comment!


	8. Frankincense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako had told Jamison to stay in his office. Nothing good could come out of letting him roam the church on his own. But as soon as he sat down on the chancel, he spotted the demon wandering between the pews, idly sipping his drink. Mako should have expected this. He stared bullets at Jamison, but Mako was being played like a fool. Jamison knew very well that he couldn’t say anything towards him or even acknowledge his presence without looking like he had one too many imaginary friends. The demon met Mako’s eyes and returned the glare with a half-lidded smirk. The bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

Mako rolled over in his sheets and brought his arm up to the source of the horrid noise designed to tear him away from his sleep every morning. He knew what time it was, but he still squinted at the big red numbers flashing on the device out of habit. 5 a.m. on the dot. Normally he would set his alarm a bit later to get a few more good minutes of rest in, but today he had to anticipate the time it would take to get not one body ready for the long day at work, but two.

Speak of the devil, Mako figured he should get Jamison up as soon as he could. He didn’t want to deal with any last second, cranky morning fits. He figured Jamison must not have slept much considering- Right. That happened. Mako groaned and sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He would never let Jamison know what he did last night, and that Jamison had been the instigator. That was dangerous information. Who knows what Jamison would do if he found out Mako had jacked off to him. Yes, dangerous. But he couldn’t help but wonder what that burst of energy was about… It couldn’t be natural.

Mako shifted to get himself out of bed, flipping the sheets up and over to his side. He had to do a double take at the mattress. A familiar spiked tail recoiled as the cold morning air enveloped it, retreating abruptly into the warmth of the bed sheets. Mako’s eyes followed the trail and discovered an uneven lump wrapping itself deeper into the blankets, accompanied by a warning growl and an exaggerated shiver.

“Fuck no,” Mako announced. He took the sheets in his hand and yanked, exposing his unwelcome bed partner. Jamison immediately withdrew on himself, eyes opening wide like he belonged here and Mako was doing something out of the ordinary.

“Off!” Mako shoved the other man so hard he tumbled onto the ground, Jamison scrambling like a spooked cat to get back to his feet.

“Oi, what-”

“Who said you could sleep in here?” Mako dropped the tangled blankets back on the mattress and made his way to the other side of the room. Jamison backed himself into the window, flinching as the chilled glass bit his skin.

“Uh- well, you didn’t say I couldn’t?” He sneered, cocking one of his brows in some strange effort to catch Mako off guard. That wasn’t going to stop anything, Mako was on a mission at this point. He reached out to grab the smaller figure, but was too slow in his early morning grogginess. Jamison escaped under his arm, hopping over the bed and standing in the opening to the bathroom.

“It ain’t my fault! It’s fucking freezing in ‘ere, n’ you’re some kind of furnace.” Jamison had a point; It was unusually cold in his apartment. If his heater was malfunctioning again, he’d have to fix it later. For now, Mako resigned himself to inspecting the sheets where Jamison had been sleeping. They still seemed clean save for a small dark spot on his spare pillow. Of course Jamison was a drooler.

“You sleep on the couch,” Mako stated as he began straightening the sheets and making the bed. “Next time, ask first.”

“Next time?” Jamison smirked, crossing his arms and leaning confidently in the doorway.

“As in ask for a damn blanket.” Mako regretted not locking the door to his bedroom. “Now go shower. You’re coming to work with me.”

Jamison scrunched his face and looked behind him at the tub. “You want me to get in there? Willingly?”

“Either that or I make you.” Mako wished he hadn’t said that. Jamison whipped his head back around and seemed almost... excited.

“Now that would be interesting,” he teased, that brow raising again.

“Jamison,” Mako all but snarled. He was met with a laugh and a few “okays” from the demon before he shut the door behind him. Mako had to rub the heat away from his cheeks. This would be a long day, indeed.

 

All Mako could find for Jamison to wear was an old pair of gym shorts and an obnoxiously colored windbreaker. If this arrangement was going to be long term, Mako would need to stop by the store and get some clothes that would actually fit the thinner man. He had time tonight after work, maybe. God. Please let today go right for once. Mako breathed a quick prayer.

It was moments like these where Mako couldn’t decide if caring for Jamison was more similar to looking after a kid or a pet. Jamison had left the bathroom in complete disarray, the shower still running and bottles of soaps all fallen to the bottom of the tub. Much of the product from the sink had been opened or dropped carelessly on the floor. Mako took a moment to clean it all up, sighing in disappointment when he found his hairbrush in the toilet. He’d definitely need to supervise the next time Jamison used the bath.

After they were both showered and dressed, Mako packed quick lunches and got on the road. Jamison was having trouble opening the protein shake Mako had tossed him, eventually huffing in frustration and giving up. When they pulled up to the church, Mako opened it for him.

He easily fell back into the motions, greeting all the members and thanking those who were concerned for him. The sanctuary was large, organized in a double level semicircle with the priest's podium in the dead center. It sat in front of a raised stage where the choir would stand, and above that was a loft where the church organ was kept. The congregation would file in through the front entrance, greet whichever Father was closest, then hurry on to their seats.

Mako had told Jamison to stay in his office. Nothing good could come out of letting him roam the church on his own. But as soon as he sat down on the chancel, he spotted the demon wandering between the pews, idly sipping his drink. Mako should have expected this. He stared bullets at Jamison, but Mako was being played like a fool. Jamison knew very well that he couldn’t say anything towards him or even acknowledge his presence without looking like he had one too many imaginary friends. The demon met Mako’s eyes and returned the glare with a half-lidded smirk. The bastard.

Mako tried to pay attention. He really did. He even sang one of the hymns rather than just mouth it like usual. He had to watch Jamison. Had to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. All Mako could do was hope that his silent threats were good enough to dissuade him. They weren’t. Jamison started at the back, gradually making his way forward. He’d do harmless things like flip a page in someone’s Bible, knock off any hats he saw, or strategically move water bottles from under the seats to precarious positions close to their owner’s feet. His snickering echoed through the room.

Mako gripped the arms to his chair. He knew no one could see or hear Jamison, and that even if someone could they wouldn’t be able to tie his actions back to Mako somehow. That didn’t stop the embarrassment that was most likely making itself known on Mako’s face and ears. Jamison could tell. After each successful reaction, whether it was a gasp or a confused expression, he’d look back at Mako and grin with those yellowing teeth, then take a short gulp from the breakfast shake.

He finally made it to the front of the room, and the parish bowed their heads for prayer. Everyone but Mako, that is. Jamison had seemingly hit the end of his drink, but he couldn’t leave it at that. Oh no, not at all. He turned his back towards Mako, conveniently leaving the side of his face in view. His tongue fell from his mouth, licking along the rim of the container. It was dark and split at the end, crowned with a golden stud. It ran along the inside of the opening then dove further, lapping up the last of the shake that clung to the sides. Mako swallowed the spit in his throat when the tongue struck the bottom of the bottle with a slight “tick.” A stronger man would look away. Mako was the stronger man. So he did.

Jamison was toying with him. Mako suspected that maybe… maybe he did know what happened last night. And he was making Mako suffer for it. He put his face in his hands, feeling just how warm it was. This was his curse. He could have the most stone-faced expression but the red of his cheeks flared at any provocation. When he was younger, he’d hide it under a mask. He wished he could right now.

The prayer was over, and everyone raised their heads. To Mako’s surprise, Jamison had disappeared.

 

Hours went by and Mako had seen no sign of Jamison. At first he was thankful, thought the little shit would bother someone else for a change. When Mass ended he couldn’t help but grow concerned. What if he _was_ bothering someone else? What if he got caught? What if someone had taken him away?

Mako sat in the confession booth and took a deep breath. It might be a good idea to go look for him, he considered. It wasn’t like he would miss anything. There were days where only one or two people showed up during the allotted time for confessions, and today seemed like one of them. He at last came to the conclusion that he should get up, make sure the demon wasn’t causing too much mayhem, but the door to the compartment next to him clicked shut.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned.” Mako knew that voice. And sure enough, a string of giggles followed.

“Where have you been?” Mako wasn’t supposed to look through the screen, but this was an exception.

Jamison shifted in his seat and pressed against the screen, that striking orange peeking through the holes. “Here and there. This place is big, lots of corners to look in.”

Mako sighed and leaned back. “Do you have any sins to confess?” He mostly meant it as a joke.

“Mm… I went in the lady’s room. Flushed all the toilets. Scared the Jesus outta that nun,” Jamison barked out a laugh.

Mako smirked. “Is that it?”

“Course not! Got a whole book of em. Wanna hear?”

Mako didn’t respond in time, Jamison shot off about his day sneaking around the church. Mako shouldn’t care, but he had to admit the story about Father Luke tripping over his own shoelaces was funny.

“Oh, and you shoulda seen the look on that priest’s face this mornin’. Looked like a strawberry,” Jamison choked, holding back his hyena laugh. “He’s more fun to fuck with than he lets on.”

Mako was aware Jamison was talking about him, but he let him continue. It was possible he might genuinely confess something of substance.

“Right mystery, he is. One second he’s sellin’ me to some murder cult, the next he’s makin’ me dinner. And the next…” His voice got low, gravelling deep in his throat. Mako leaned forward, trying to listen. “And the next, he’s-”

“Father? Are you in here?” A woman’s voice interrupted Jamison, the penitent door opening. Mako could make out the sound of Jamison’s claws scurrying through the gap the woman made, escaping just in the nick of time.

“Yes. Please, sit.”

 

The sun was setting outside and that meant his shift was coming to a close. Mako was pleased he didn’t have to go looking for Jamison, finding him sleeping in his office chair. He had already grabbed the donations from the tithe box, all that was left was to wake Jamison-

A knock rattled against his door. “Father Rutledge, tell me you haven’t left yet.” That was Father Luke. Mako let him in, holding the envelope of cash and checks tightly under his arm.

“Good. I need to discuss something with you.” He motioned towards the chairs, sitting down in one of the guests’ seats. Mako felt uneasy standing, but he wasn’t going to wake Jamison up. He took his own seat in the other guest chair. They shook hands, Father Luke’s hand limp in Mako’s wide palm.

“It’s the Bishop. He’s coming in town and has requested an audience with you.”

Mako grimaced. “When?”

“In exactly a week from today. He’ll be travelling with some of the sisterhood; they’re having a lecture with our youth group and thought it best to talk to you face to face about this… request you made.”

“My application?”

“Yes, that. He just wants to make sure your heart is in the right place before sending it off to the association.”

“Anything else?” Mako didn’t want to chat much longer, especially with Jamison in the room.

“No, but I do want to warn you… He’ll most likely bring up your recent absences. I can assure you we completely understand and want you at your best when you come into work, but the Bishop could be less… sympathetic.”

“Ok, I’ll keep that in mind.” After a quick thanks and a sincere pat on the back, Father Luke took his exit.

This could be bad. This meeting could result in him being fired. Or worse, them discovering Jamison. What if they could see him? Mako didn’t know what qualifications allowed that hooded bunch that ability, but it looked like it couldn’t be just anyone. The fact that the whole parish didn’t see him was evidence of that. Would Jamison know? He spun the office chair to face him, Jamison catching himself as if he was about to fall.

“What? Whad’ya want?” He spat, eyes crossed from just opening them.

“How can some people see you, but others can’t?” Mako stepped back, allowing the creature some room to stand himself up.

“Ah, that’s easy. Sometimes it’s hard tah see the evil in this world unless ya look for it.”

Mako pondered that. The cult had charms and spells and knowledge of the supernatural. He knew the Bishop had exorcist qualifications, and that could mean trouble. He wouldn’t know for sure until it happened, so for now he added that to his extensive list of things to worry about.

 

Their stop at the bank didn’t last long at all. Jamison watched closely as Mako deposited the checks and _most_ of the cash, cackling and jumping up and down in the passenger seat.

“What ya gonna use it for?” He clapped his hands excitedly, wiggling over and trying to count the bills in Mako’s hand.

“Shopping,” Mako answered, pocketing the slips of paper and pushing the other man out of his space. It was getting late but Mako knew of a few department stores that stayed open till ten. By God’s good will it wouldn’t take that long.

Mako considered stopping by the pet supplies. He barely had time to put on his jacket and take out his collar; as soon as he parked his truck and let Jamison out, he was gone in a flash. There were too many stimulants around for him to stay still; a leash would’ve been a great idea. Mako was unsure he would even be able to catch the demon to put it on him. A thought for another day.

After grabbing some cheap packs of tank tops, socks, and briefs that Mako was sure would fit Jamison better than the hand-me-downs he currently wore, he somehow lost track of him.

“Jamison?” he called. After no answer, he made his way through the men’s clothing section. He practically had to squeeze through the thin openings, being careful not to knock into the hangers. “Jamison?” he called again.

A hushed snicker responded, a pair of horns emerging from behind one of the clothing racks. “Hush, Mako. Next kid I see’s gonna be in for a shock.” Scaring children now? He must be easily entertained.

“Did you pick anything out?” Mako sighed, checking his phone for the time.

“Hm? Oh.” That was a no. Mako rolled his eyes and reached his hand out, Jamison just stared at it.

“C’mon. Faster we’re done here, faster we eat.”

“What we havin’?” He took the hand, letting it pull him up and out of the rack.

“A treat. If you behave,” Mako warned. He held up a flannel shirt from the clearance rack behind him. That seemed to be enough for Jamison, as he quickly swiped the shirt along with a few more miscellaneous items.

They ended up in the women’s section, Jamison holding up a frilly, baby blue bra with rhinestones and bows. He handed it to Mako and kept going, looking through every aisle. Mako breathed and put the bra back.

“Getting something for that special someone?” An employee asked behind him, almost startling Mako. Almost.

She was an older woman, short in height and weak in the eyes. Mako glanced at Jamison who was watching from a safe distance. He took the bra and held it up to himself.

“No. This is for me.” He tried to smile but probably just displayed his teeth. The woman didn’t know how to respond, hoping for a punchline but not getting one. She left him to his business. Mako could hear Jamison trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard.

Mako sat on the bench outside the changing room, waiting while Jamison sorted through his loot. Anything he didn’t like was thrown out, Mako having to bend forward occasionally to pick it up off the floor. There was a long moment of silence.

“Alive in there?” Mako commented, checking his phone again. The door clicked behind him.

“...Could ya help me out with this?”

Mako hoisted himself up, opening the now unlocked door. Jamie stood next to the mirror with a defeated expression. His shirt only had one of the buttons done, the others hanging loose. His claws must make it difficult to fasten them. Mako closed the door. He had to admit, this look was pretty good on Jamison. As good as any look can be on a demon, he supposed. The bleached jeans were just the right length, ending above his ankle and letting him stand comfortably. They’d never find shoes the right shape for his feet, Mako hoped he had a good tolerance to the cold down there.

Mako started at the bottom of the shirt and made his way up. It had a dark green and black pattern, layered over one of the tank tops Mako had chosen and under a black, zip-up hoodie. He was on the last button when he caught the fire in Jamison’s eyes; they were staring directly into his own. Mako cursed at himself, he had fallen straight into his trap.

“What?” Mako cautioned, feeling like he was being read like a book. He took a step back but Jamison’s legs moved with his own, his hand coming up to rest on Mako’s chest. Mako could feel his ears go red. “Jamison…”

“A real mystery.” Jamison scowled, standing on his toes as if trying to get a closer look at something. Was Mako just going to let this happen? Jamison was touch starved, craving human affection after being alone for so long. Mako refused to believe there was any other motive than that. But he was. He was letting it happen. Maybe because Mako was the same.

Jamison got so close Mako could feel his cool breath and smell the remnants of smoke in his hair. He had the urge to shut his eyes, lean in and close the gap between them. Jamison grinned, rushing forward and leaving a quick peck on Mako’s cheek.

“Thanks, mate.” Mako was left bewildered as Jamison snaked around him and out of the changing room. Fuck. Mako covered his face, wanting to yell but stifling it down to a growl. This was a game for Jamison. The cheeky shit knew exactly what made Mako tick. He hastily grabbed the pile of clothes he guessed Jamison had liked and stuffed them in his basket.

 

It felt good to sit in the parking lot and eat in his truck, away from prying eyes and the fear of being found out. They had stopped at a Chinese inspired fast food place; nothing was genuine but it was cheap and tasted fine. Mako had to scold Jamison when he almost dug into his box with nothing but his face and hands, a mess like that in his truck would never be completely cleaned. Jamison was annoyed at having to use his fork, but stuffed his face nevertheless.

They even had Thai tea with boba, the limited edition drink on its last legs due to the changing of the seasons. Jamison took a big swig and nearly choked on the sinkers, most likely not expecting them. Every sip after that he slowed down to savor the taste, and Mako thought he’d never see Jamison take the time to enjoy his food.

“Sorry about today,” Jamison spoke up, closing his empty box and sinking in his seat. Jamison was full of surprises.

“Why?” Mako egged him on, taking the last bite of his noodles.

“Well, you’re being all sweet to me. It’s weird.”

“I’m being sweet?” Mako could laugh if he wanted to.

“Yeah! You only tried to kill me once today. That’s a big step forward if ya ask me.” Jamison had a crooked smile on his face, softer than usual. “Guess I’ve been too hard on ya.”

Mako gulped down the rest of his drink and started the engine, backing out of his spot. This conversation was too sappy for him.

“Couldn’t sleep much last night.” Jamison brought his knees up and rested his chin. No shit, Mako had seen what he was doing instead of sleeping. “Thought I lost the power ta dream. ‘Course the first one I get is a nasty one. Felt real.”

This was just some half assed excuse, Mako was sure of it.

“Everything was… cold. White. Couldn’t see shit through the snow. Then _they_ showed up,” Jamison groaned. “Came at me like they owned me. Buncha pricks. Don’t need ‘em no more, can ‘andle meself.” He chewed on his lip.

Goosebumps ran up Mako’s arms. He and Jamison had shared the nightmare? He looked over at him, considering if he should tell him that. No. If it stressed him out and kept him up to the point of needing to sleep in Mako’s bed, it would be better not to. It was probably just some leftover side effect of Jamison possessing him. Yeah.

“Sorry.” Mako stopped at the red light. There were no other cars on this backroad at this time of night, but the lights were on a timer and he’d have to wait.

“Ya know? You really can’t take a hint, Mako.” Jamison twisted and faced him, sucking on his chapped lip. “I dunno how much more obvious I can make it.”

Mako humored him. “And what is that?”

Jamison used the armrest to lift himself towards Mako’s shoulder. “I see the way you look at me. Like a hungry animal.” His prosthetic hand traced gentle circles over Mako’s gut. “Nothing to be bashful over.” His voice lowered to a whisper and the fingers trailed downward. He was leaning so far over, he must have forgotten to fasten his seatbelt. Two can play at this game. “We should-”

He ran the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> This one was a fun one. Super long too. Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did c;  
> Remember to comment!


	9. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since the incident in the truck those few days ago, Jamison had not only refused to give up, but doubled his efforts. Mako actually looked forward to his flirtations. It was entertaining how hard he tried, how bad he wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark
> 
> I have a patreon! Wanna leave a tip? You can pledge here (with rewards as low as $1 a month!):  
> https://www.patreon.com/chameleonart

It was getting colder. The reports were saying this would be the first freeze of the winter, earlier than usual and expected to leave the city drowned in snow for nearly a week. It would take even longer for it to melt. Mako was certain there was something wrong with the furnace; he couldn’t remember the last time he changed the filters. Last winter’s cold had been manageable, and he didn’t have to think about warming anyone other than himself. This time around was different.

Mako knew he had everything he needed to fix the problem in the garage. He kept telling himself he’d get it done, that he’d take a trip over there and do a little organizing. He didn’t want to think about having to face the reminder that hid under that tarp. It made his chest hurt when he did.

There was no power that could stop the will of nature. He could feel it, the cold that seeped through the cracks. Jamison felt it too. Every night that passed he’d take one more blanket from the closet and add it to his growing collection on the arm chair. It was easier to snuggle up into a ball there than on the couch. Mako was surprised that he even owned that many blankets.

Nights felt longer than the days. Jamison resigned to napping in Mako’s office during his shift, claiming he had grown bored of exploring the church. He said he personally visited every nook and cranny, and that pranking the same people over and over was getting old. He’d done the toilet flushing trick more times than he could count. Mako knew the truth, though.

The nightmares. Mako saw them too. While he could simply brush it off and go back to sleep, Jamison couldn’t. He’d sit for hours with the television on, or stand in the shower with the hot water going, or wait till Mako was asleep and try to sneak into his room. The key word being try. Mako had his rules, and even though he couldn’t help but be concerned for Jamison, his bed was his own. The door remained locked.

 

Mako squeezed the plastic bottle of water and swallowed it all down, crushing it and tossing the remains to the bin in the corner. Jamison perked up when it hit the wall and fell to the floor, but quickly grabbed it and placed it in. Mako had been slacking off these past few weeks. The stress of the job, the lure of the drink, the sickness he brought home, Jamison. Whatever excuse he could find had kept him away. Working out helped him relax, made him feel good. Tomorrow was his day off. It was the perfect time to grab supplies from the garage. Knowing that brought him down here.

It was a small gym and by no means fancy. Access to it came with living at his apartment, so a free gym was better than one that wasn’t. At least according to Mako. There were weights and benches and a mat for him to stretch on, and that’s all he needed. Jamison had never seen equipment like this. Mako attempted to show him how some of it worked but lost interest when Jamison started treating it like a playground, climbing on the bars or rolling the exercise balls across the floor. Mako would let him do what he wanted.

“We should do this more often,” Jamison hummed, hanging upside down with his legs hooked around the pull up bar.

Mako huffed an agreement and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt, laying back down on the bench and situating himself under the barbell. Jamison hopped down and tiptoed his way over.

“You won’t believe the view I’m gettin’.” Ah, it was this again. Ever since the incident in the truck those few days ago, Jamison had not only refused to give up, but doubled his efforts. Mako actually looked forward to his flirtations. It was entertaining how hard he tried, how bad he wanted it.

He felt a tentative claw run through the hair on his leg as he pumped the iron. Mako would do this sometimes, ignore Jamison and let him make his advances. Jamison treated it like a test, see how far he could go before Mako turned and snapped at him. Each time he’d get further, and Mako honestly found it hard to deny him. But to see Jamison grow confident and hopeful, only for Mako to tear that all away and watch him grovel in defeat, that was satisfying.

The claw retreated before it found the hem of his shorts. Odd, usually he’d try harder than that. Mako pushed the bar up and felt a heaviness press down on his crotch. He froze, barbell stuck in the air. Jamison had skipped all the pleasantries, his scrawny ass straddling Mako’s hips. He had timed this.

“I think this one takes the cake,” Jamison spoke above him, and Mako could almost hear the sly smirk he wore on his face. He shifted forward into Mako’s line of sight, using his hands to balance on his stomach. Mako looked down at him, the light from the ceiling panels reflecting off his bare skin, wings outstretched and tongue between his teeth. This creature had really grown on Mako. He almost thought him to be… alluring. In his own, grotesque way. It didn’t matter what he thought; what mattered was what he felt, and that was his dick hardening under the weight of the body on top of him.

His arms were shaking, and he grit his teeth as he dropped the barbell on the pegs behind him with a harsh bounce. This? This was a cheap shot. And like hell Mako would let Jamison get away with it. Jamison caught the look in his eye. Before he could scramble off, Mako rose and took him by his good horn, holding him in place.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Mako boomed. Jamison’s eyes went wide, mouth opening like he wanted to retort but couldn’t find what to say. After another second, he melted back into a grin.

“You n’ I both know I do.”

Mako searched him. “Why?”

“Hm?” Jamison met his eyes and did something weird with his face. He looked… lost. Distracted.

“Why do you want this so bad?” Mako had been far from reliable towards Jamison. If all he wanted was an easy fuck, Mako was making things way too difficult. It wasn’t worth it.

“Ah,” Jamison started, eyes downcasting and ears folding back. “I like ya, is all.”

Mako couldn’t believe it. He released Jamison’s horn with a rough push, prompting the demon to stumble off of him. He stood and headed for the towel rack.

“W-wait! I mean it!” Jamison hurried after him. “Besides- what’s stoppin’ us, huh? Surely ain’t your church. They wouldn’t know a thing.”

Mako grunted and buried his face in one of the rags, trying to wipe away the red of his cheeks.

“It’s not that complicated. Just two blokes havin’ a good time,” he babbled on. Mako turned to look at him.

“And if I say no?”

Jamison must not have considered that. He dug his teeth in his bottom lip. “Would you?”

Now Mako was the one who didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to say it was possible. Because it was. But he was kidding himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but the automatic door behind him slid open. This was a public gym, after all.

“Evening, Father,” his neighbor said. Mako acknowledged him with a small hello and gathered his things from his locker. Jamison looked like he was still waiting for an answer, but Mako refrained from giving it to him.

 

Mako dropped himself on the living room sofa, flipping open a can of beer and leaning back into the worn cushions. He was tired and needed a good shower, but a short break to have a drink wouldn’t hurt him. Jamison copied him, also taking a can from the fridge and sitting in his nest of blankets on the arm chair.

Mako had forgotten Jamison screwed up the settings on the television. He kept the channel where Jamison had left it -some kind of talkshow network- and set to work undoing all the changes. Halfway through the process, he heard a click and a splash of liquid where Jamison was sitting. He must have gotten impatient with the tab, because instead he had sliced the top open. Whether it was with his claws or his teeth, Mako couldn’t tell.

“Sorry, mate.” Jamison tittered. He caught everything he could in his mouth but that didn’t accomplish much. Mako guessed he was adding the blankets to his laundry run tomorrow. Ugh, that’s right. Tomorrow.

Mako put the can down and pressed his knuckle to his forehead in an attempt to rub away the headache that was forming. It was going to be hard getting to sleep that night. After a deep breath, he looked back at the television to finish what he had started. He saw him in the corner of his eye, Jamison staring into him. That wasn’t much different than usual, but tonight it really got on Mako’s nerves.

“What?” He demanded, slamming the remote down.

Jamison didn’t flinch. He left the half a beer can on the end table and stood, moving over to the couch and plopping himself next to Mako.

“Let me help ya out,” he said, hands tenderly coming up to rest on Mako’s upper back.

“Help with what?” Mako leaned away from him. This was different than Jamison’s usual playful air; he looked serious. Brows lowered, ears at attention, tail flicking to the side.

“You’re tense, I’ll take your mind off things. Just let me.” He got up on his knees, hands returning to Mako’s shoulders. Was this supposed to be a massage? Jamison was kneading his palm in circles on Mako’s back, pressing hard and doing the best he could with the layer of fabric in the way.

“Stop,” Mako commanded. Jamison winced as if he’d been hurt, but he complied and sat on his heels. This was the most discouraged Mako had seen the guy, and that usual feeling of satisfaction was missing.

“Just-” Mako sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Get rid of that thing. It’s too rough.” He pointed at Jamison’s prosthetic before pulling his shirt over his head. Enough was enough, he might as well make it easier for him.

Jamison didn’t even have to think about it; the arm was gone in an instant and he practically sprung forward. Soft laughter caught in his throat as his mood vastly improved. Mako’s skin was still damp and salty from his workout routine, and it was obvious Jamison didn’t know what he was doing. Claws brushed dangerously against his skin and the cool metal of the broken chain tapped him repetitively. Annoying. Even though it wasn’t the best, it was still something. Mako let himself unwind and enjoy it.

 

He should have expected Jamison would lose interest quickly. His fingers had minds of their own, forgetting what their purpose was and simply feeling Mako rather than massaging. A small rub across his arm, a scratch through his hair, a tickle down his shoulder blade. They moved to the side of his neck and an arm flung itself over. Mako could feel the cold skin of Jamison’s chest and stomach press against his back.

“C’mon... “ His voice was breathy in Mako’s ear, followed by something warm and wet. The chill spasming through Mako’s spine jerked him forward.

“Jamison,” Mako shot, wiping the saliva from his ear. He looked back to see the demon flushed and breathing hard. It must have taken all his strength not to start rutting against Mako’s naked back.

“Please, Mako! It’ll feel good, I promise.” He sounded desperate. This game they played had sanded down any amount of patience either of them had.

“Listen to yourself. So needy. I don’t owe you shit.” Mako tested the waters. Jamison responded as he thought he would, letting out a groan and pushing himself closer to Mako again.

“Please,” he nearly whispered. Mako liked this, liked how he begged. Jamison knew who was in charge. Mako may have finally been beaten, but if this is what defeat felt like then he didn’t mind.

“Okay,” he said, patting his thigh. That was all Jamison needed. A spark lit in his eye, and he lurched forward and spun onto Mako’s lap. His enthusiasm was expected, but the force behind it took Mako by surprise. He was pushed back to the cushions with an eager, clawed hand, Jamison smirking behind the veil of heat on his face.

This was the same view he had seen downstairs: Jamison sitting confidently above him with wings on display, tongue peeking out from behind his lips. The light from the television haloed around him, making Mako’s heart beat just a little harder.

“Sit back and relax, big boy,” Jamison growled. Good, another thing Mako liked. The demon lowered his hips and weighed down on Mako’s crotch. His shorts bunched up with every thrust, but even through the cloth it felt good. Mako let himself close his eyes and enjoy the sensation.

Jamison moaned with desire in each breath. It made Mako grateful that no one else could hear him. Jamison was losing himself, his thrusts failing to follow a rhythm. He slowed to a stop, inhaling sharply when an extra weight made itself known in Mako’s lap. Mako peered down in time to see that black… thing slip out from some kind of slit on Jamison’s pelvis. So Mako hadn’t imagined it that night.

Jamison’s cock was sleek and shiny, almost like rubber. It was drenched in a clear substance, dripping profusely from every side. The slight pink of the irritated opening kept spitting it out, coating the dick and the front of Mako’s jersey shorts as he tried to resume his humping. The smell of sex was so strong it almost made Mako want to gag.

“Off.” Mako grabbed Jamison by the wrist, his hand almost comically larger than Jamison’s own. He yanked him from his lap and to the side, Jamison complaining with a snarl and a kick of his foot. Wild, animalistic. He went silent when Mako pulled his shorts down, freeing his erection. If his face was red before, it must be radiating by now. Mako’s heart was pounding. Jamison’s eyes locked on Mako’s dick in want, watching as Mako pushed the fabric down to his knees. He didn’t need any more ruined clothes.

“Yes- yes, yes!” Jamison tried to pounce, but Mako kept him in place.

“Use your hand.” The thought of touching Jamison’s slimey cock left much to be desired. The fluid looked like snot. Disgusting.

“What? But-”

“It’s either that or nothing.”

Jamison didn’t think twice. He balanced on the couch with his stump of an arm, leaning and reaching his hand towards his prize. He grasped his fingers the best he could around the base of Mako’s cock, seeming thrilled that they couldn’t wrap all the way around. He pulled, rotating his wrist to try and provide friction to as much skin as he could.

Mako hummed, letting out a shaky breath. He didn’t know how many years have passed since he let someone other than himself down there. There was no doubt he could do a better job than Jamison, but the creature’s eagerness to please was welcome. Anything Mako didn’t have to work for was good.

“Nnh…” Jamison whined in front of him, the strength behind his pumping waning. Mako spared a glance, noting his pained expression and the twitch of his bad arm on the cushion. His dick was soaked, making a dark spot underneath him on the couch. He should have grabbed a couple towels. Oh well, he’d remember for next time. If there was a next time.

Mako watched Jamison’s cock jump, begging for attention. He looked back to his face, his bottom lip being abused by those sharp canines. Mako brought his hand to his cheeks, squishing them between his thumb and index finger. Jamison’s lips pursed out from the pressure, his hand stopping completely. It was cute, the way he hesitated. Like he thought he had done something wrong.

“What? What is it?” Jamison spat. Mako felt that urge again. Who was he to say no to himself? He wanted this; he shouldn’t be holding himself back. He pulled Jamison to his lips, thankful his horns were angled enough to make room. Jamison responded as fast as he could, hand lacing itself in the hairs of Mako’s chest and arm hooking around his neck. Mako cupped his hand behind the smaller man’s head, holding him close.

It was messy and tasted horrible; Mako would need to buy him a toothbrush. But his lips were strangely soft, and his mouth was willing to open for him. He took this opportunity to bring his free hand below, finding the wetness between Jamison’s legs. That earned him a buck and a gasp. It did feel like snot. Heavy, thick, cold. His immediate instinct was to retreat his hand and wipe it off, but he was stubborn if not curious.

Jamison dove his hips down into the nook of Mako’s palm, fucking his fingers. A growl accompanied every thrust, every breathy giggle, his lips becoming lazy against Mako’s. That tongue spilled out. It filled the inside of Mako’s mouth all too suddenly and dipped a little too far into his throat. Mako choked, and with a hard tug, pulled Jamison back by his scalp. He let out a bout of laughter, tongue hanging out and flapping as he moved his hips. It was thick in the inside of his mouth, like a loaded spring, with drool running down the dark muscle. Mako stopped himself from wondering exactly what that tongue was capable of, his thoughts rushing back to his own straining erection.

He could make this much more efficient. He released Jamison’s cock and guided him back to his lap. Jamison obeyed, clearly enjoying all the manhandling he was getting from Mako.

“Fuck…” the demon groaned as Mako joined both of their lengths in his palm. Mako’s suspicions were right. The thick fluid didn’t dry out, even when coating Mako’s hand and cock. It was some kind of natural lubrication, natural as demons were. And it felt fantastic. The smell was getting to be too much, but Mako lost the will to care. Nothing a shower wouldn’t fix.

His movements were slick and smooth, hand big enough to pleasure both himself and Jamison. The demon’s voice kept getting louder, screaming and laughing in pleasure. Mako had never been vocal during sex, but being the reason someone else was making those sounds just turned him on even more. He groaned, feeling the heat he knew all too well coil up in his gut. Jamison would hit his limit sooner, it seemed.

His smile faded away, mouth open wide and voice trapped in his throat. Mako had to reach his arm behind him to keep him from falling back as he came, the spunk shooting up and onto his pale stomach. Mako saw the lightning behind his eyes, like Jamison’s orgasm was contagious. It went straight to his dick, his own cum bursting out, joining Jamison’s. The demon let out a succession of short moans in response, surprised as his dick twitched in a pathetic attempt of coming again.

Mako let them ride it out, slowing down and letting go. He had come a lot, more than usual. Jamison was covered in it, skin shiny with sweat and spit clinging to his chin. This sight was fitting on him. He tried hard to catch his breath, choking out small thank you’s and hints of praise and gratitude. Mako’s arm was getting tired holding him.

This was real. This had just happened. Mako had held a demon’s dick in his hand. Jamison’s dick. It was ridiculous, the whole thing, but Mako didn’t regret it. The afterglow was short, Mako quickly coming to the realization that he was absolutely covered in Jamison’s fluids. He needed to shower. Now. And he wasn’t letting Jamison off the hook either, not in his current state.

He retreated his hand, Jamison clenching before tumbling to the carpet.

“Hey!” Jamison wobbled himself up, arms weak as his whole body trembled.

“Let’s go,” Mako sighed, standing and pulling his shorts up. He’d need to remember to deep clean the sofa tomorrow. Jamison’s prosthetics appeared from a dense smoke and he happily shot up, following Mako to the bathroom.

“Round two, mate?”

“Not a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> You guys have been more than patient, 9 chapters is a long time to wait haha! There's lots in store for these two so I hope you stick around. The story's no where near the end. Remember to comment!


	10. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This storage facility had seen better days, much like the rest of the neighborhood. Mako was disappointed to see the keypad at the gate was out of order; they’d have to park and walk the rest of the way. He had planned on leaving Jamison in the car, but now that wasn’t a possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark
> 
> I have a patreon! Wanna leave a tip? You can pledge here (with rewards as low as $1 a month!):  
> https://www.patreon.com/chameleonart

Blue. Blue was the color of the vast sky, unlittered by clouds or city smog. Pure, serene; it felt like a distant memory. Eyes fluttered sleepily, and his skin absorbed the warmness blessed unto him by the summer sun. It was soft, where he laid, grass growing tall with no stones or twigs to clutter the ground beneath. The strange familiarity of this place eventually brought him to sit up and look around, the tiredness surrounding his eyes making it difficult for him to take in too many details at once. He could see a lone honey bee hopping from wildflower to wildflower, and cows roaming the field a few meters away. The animals were well fed, the blades of grass never-ending. He was safe to lay back down and listen to the sound of the rustling wind.

 

It was silent, now, as Mako felt himself return to consciousness. Above him, instead of sky, was the white ceiling of his bedroom. No sun would greet him today. Despite this, it was still warm under his sheets. He wanted to drift back off, forget about having to wake up and start his day of chores. A voice grabbed his attention, a soft sound coming from his side. Turning his heavy head, a messy ball of hair was all he could see. Well, that and the pair of horns accompanying it.

Jamison slept deeply, holding himself as close as he could to the heat of Mako’s skin. In the daze of the early morning, Mako could only stare. Of course Jamison snuck in his room last night. Both of Jamison’s normal spots in the living room were soiled, one with half a beer can and the other with lust. Mako also, completely coincidentally, forgot to lock his door.

It took a moment for him to realize the lack of any icey, spidery nightmares from that previous night. The dream was pleasant for once: warm and nice. Mako wondered why there was a sudden change. He figured it was the same reason Jamison slept at the church, something about being on holy ground shielded him from those images. Mako wanted to laugh; it was hard to think of himself as holy. Whatever the reason, Jamison was finally able to have a full night’s rest, and that would hopefully make the day go by easier.

Mako fumbled with the sheets and pushed them back. He was about to wake Jamison up and get him out of his bed, but the softness of his typically exaggerated facial features prevented him from doing so. It was hard not to look at the quiver of his blond lashes as he lived in the safety of his dreams, the gentle twitch of his hand as Mako pulled further away from his side, the rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he breathed, the cool light from the window reflecting off the short, curly patch of hair starting below his bellybutton and travelling downward. Mako had the sudden desire to pet it, but that was a bad idea. He knew what was underneath, yet he didn’t know how much coaxing was needed for that slimy head to pop up. Now was not the time to figure it out, so he carefully shifted himself off the mattress and replaced the blanket on top of Jamison. He’d let him enjoy his rest for a little bit longer.

 

Mako somehow cleaned the sofa, swept and mopped both the kitchen and bathroom, and started a load of laundry before Jamison came hovering out of the bedroom. It wasn’t hard to predict that the smell of food cooking would wake him nearly instantly.

“Ah, nothin’ better than gettin’ a warm meal made for ya after a night like that. Am I right, Mako?” Jamison stretched his long body, standing tall on his toes. Getting out of bed must have been a chilling reminder to Jamison, as he was now wearing a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. His white belly peeked out from under the fabric.

“Shut it,” Mako huffed, flipping a pancake onto a neat, plated stack.

“Don’t be like that, mate.” Jamison sauntered into the kitchen, bearing a new level of confidence Mako was sure he had unintentionally given him. “We had a good time, the two of us.”

“Just a fuck, nothing to it.” This conversation shouldn’t be happening. Mako felt thin fingers walk across his back, the sharpness of the claws rousing a chill up his spine even through his shirt.

“Ya tellin’ me you wouldn’t do it again?” Jamison was too close, practically pressing himself into Mako’s back. Mako could feel that pointy chin dig awkwardly into his shoulder blade. He wanted to curse at himself for letting this happen, for letting last night happen. Mako would do it again, and that knowledge nearly made him sick to the stomach. He was getting too soft, letting this spindly thing into his life so easily. He couldn’t deny that he wanted it, that it felt right, despite how wrong it should be.

“Breakfast,” Mako growled, almost tossing the plate of pancakes on the table next to the tray of turkey bacon and eggs. He shoved himself into his seat, avoiding any sort of glance in the demon’s direction. He could imagine the smug look on Jamison’s face just fine without looking at it.

 

Mako spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon stalling as long as he could. He tried to find chore after chore to keep himself busy, keep himself from having to leave the house. It was unavoidable; even if they didn’t go to the garage, they still needed to stop by the grocery. And they needed to do it before the snow was scheduled to fall that evening. It was time to go, and Mako had no choice.

He noticed Jamison rapidly bounce his leg when the drive led them in the direction of the cultist’s cave. It was understandable, and he relaxed when they exited the freeway a few miles short and entered a part of town he hadn’t been to before. It was a poor excuse of a neighborhood, many of the houses boarded up and abandoned. Mako knew this street well, and he couldn’t help but slow as he passed his old home on the corner.

The doors and windows were broken, the top floor caved in, patches of overgrown weeds replaced any chance of a healthy lawn as much of it dissolved into dirt and gravel. Its current lifeless state was no comparison to the history this building had. It was a gathering place; he and much of his old gang roomed here. He could still taste the alcohol, hear the laughter and shouting, smell the smoke and sweat. He wished he could remember why they all left after he did, something about a fight and a fire. He would give anything to visit them now, but he wondered if they’d even want to see him.

 

Going only a few more minutes down the road led them to a parking lot and metal fence. This storage facility had seen better days, much like the rest of the neighborhood. Mako was disappointed to see the keypad at the gate was out of order; they’d have to park and walk the rest of the way. He had planned on leaving Jamison in the car, but now that wasn’t a possibility.

The ice in the air rushed into Mako’s throat and lungs, and he quickly solved that with a tug of his scarf over his mouth. He wore a double-layered coat and a knitted hat, perfect for shielding him from the wind. Jamison, on the other hand, was under-prepared.

“Christ!” he spat, wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his fingers underneath. He only brought a hoodie and that thin windbreaker Mako had lent him.

“Warned you,” Mako teased, closing the car door and locking it with a short beep. The temperature had dropped drastically since they left the house, and the sky above grew darker with winter clouds.

The walk wasn’t long, but the wind pushed through the lanes with a vengeance. Jamison trailed behind, being mindful where he stepped. The concrete driveway was cracked and crumbled, leaving sharp rocks and precarious gaps in the stone. His bare skin was most likely becoming numb from the cold, and he had to make sure to be careful not to damage the pads of his good foot as they went.

Many of the units were open and empty, clearly not being cared for by the supervisor. Oh well, it wasn’t Mako’s place to judge. Not many people had use for this place anymore. Thankfully his garage was still intact, the bolted lock holding strong. Mako had to fight through the rust around the keyhole to get it unfastened, and with a hard yank it broke free.

Mako felt like he was digging up a grave when he rolled open the steel door. Everything inside was untouched, a layer of dust covering each surface. This was one of the larger units, full of furniture and equipment he couldn’t take with him to seminary. A lot of it he was sure belonged to his old mates, and he supposed he was holding onto them for no reason. He lost contact with them long ago.

The wind died down considerably as they walked inside and lowered the door. It was dark, the far ends of the garage shrouded in shadow. It alleviated a little of Mako’s nerves, that tarp out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

“Whew, was sure I’d freeze me balls off out there.” Jamison pulled the front of his jeans, peering inside with his most concerned expression. “Ah, fuck! They’re gone! Quick, Mako, help me find the bastards. We may save em yet!”

Mako rolled his eyes, thankful his scarf concealed the grin that found its way onto his face. Jamison rasped out a laugh and plopped his rear down on one of the covered armchairs, bringing his knees up to warm the pink skin of his foot.

There wasn’t a lot of time with the storm on its way, so Mako set to work. He could clear a couple shelves, fill a few bags with some things to donate or throw away, and grab the filters on the way out.

 

The desk along the wall quickly became a catch all for all the books Mako was going through. These were from his parents; Mako inherited them and most of the items in here when they died. He was more bold back then. He didn’t have to live up to anymore expectations; he dropped out of college, used his inheritance to move out of the country, and he found his own path. This garage had always been perfect for keeping his past in check. He hated having to dig around in it.

Mako was in the middle of putting the books good enough to keep back on the shelf when he heard a sharp snap behind him.

“Wha...” Jamison awed, making that snapping sound once more. Mako lowered the scarf.

“Better not be getting into anything-” Mako turned, watching as a flick of fire ignited in Jamison’s ashen hand. The light of the flame danced across the walls of the garage, bathing everything in an orange light. It rivaled the spark that lit in Jamison’s own eyes as his chest grew with pride.

“Would’ya look at that!” Jamison cheered, the flame settling down to the tips of his fingers.

Mako could barely believe what he was seeing, but considering what he had been through these last few weeks, it didn’t take long for him to come to his senses. “Cut it out!” he roared, reaching for the wrist of Jamison’s prosthetic. But Jamison saw him coming, springing himself over the back of his chair and out of Mako’s grasp.

“What’s the big deal? The little tyke’s not hurtin’ anyone.”

“Be careful-” Mako headed for him again, but Jamison hopped over the workbench and into the corner. _The_ corner.

“I am! Can’t a guy warm his toes?” He held up his flame at a safe distance. It flickered softly, illuminating the object that Mako had tried so hard to avoid. His eyes caught on it, and they wouldn’t tear away. It was drawing him in, almost calling his name. Jamison squinted at Mako, noticing how still he had become. He traced his gaze behind him, finding what Mako was staring at. “Oh,” he nearly whispered.

Mako breathed in as deep as he could, pushing down those old emotions. He walked around the workbench and stood by Jamison, running his hand along the curve of the tarp.

“What’s in there?” Jamison asked, holding the tiny flame to his chest like it was precious.

“Hm? You don’t know?” The coating of dust sitting on the cloth was nearly a decade old, thick and almost like a blanket of its own. Mako had to pat his palm on his pants to get it off.

“Not like I can read minds, mate. I’ve been in your head, but a lot of stuff was missin’. Buried away.”

Mako raised his brow. He didn’t know if he believed that Jamison wasn’t some kind of mind reader, but he did have a point. Mako swore to leave behind any trace of his old life, of the things he did, before he started seminary. It was an oath made to an old friend. He couldn’t break that. Much of it now he couldn’t remember even if he tried. There was something standing in the way…

But even in the face of that, there were some parts of him that he could not let go of. At least not completely. The pain in his chest urged him forward, a yearning he had no explanation for. He took the tarp in his hand and it was thrown off with a cloud of dust. Jamison’s fire blew out, and the both of them were sent into coughing fits.

Mako covered his nose and waved the dust away from the air in front of them. Jamison choked and spat, trying to get the awful taste out of his mouth. He had to rub it out of his eyes before snapping his fingers to summon a flame just as bright as the one before.

“A motorbike?” He asked as soon as his vision was clear enough to see.

“The Hog,” Mako corrected him. He hadn’t laid eyes on it since he left it here all those years ago, but it was just as beautiful as he remembered. Everything about it was custom, from the rims to the seat to the fenders, to the pig ornament above the wheel and the faux tusks framing the headlight. It had its scars, but they were beautiful too. Mako could pick out each one and remember where it came from. The crack in the tail light from a gun chase, the dent in the exhaust pipe from knocking a poor sucker off his own bike, the scratch on the front fender from… actually, he didn’t know where it was from. The more he looked, the more marks he found that he couldn’t place. Odd, he used to pride himself on these little battle scars. His memory wasn’t that bad, was it? He thumbed across a noticeable divot on the pig ornament, searching hard in his brain.

“Right perfect, this is. Never seen one up close, just on the TV.” Jamison whistled. “What’s that-” He reached his hand out, but Mako was fast this time. He took him by the wrist, holding him still before his claws could touch the item sitting on the leather seat.

“That’s Roadhog.” It was a mess of a mask, torn to pieces and gathered in a heap. The filters and lenses were still in good shape. He couldn’t remember how it happened, but he must have done it. Roadhog was dead, along with any hope of returning to his past. “Let him rest.”

Jamison nodded, and Mako released his arm. He felt his eyes water, but didn’t know why. The dust, probably.

“Sorry,” Jamison said, hand retreating to scratch at the scar on his shoulder. “You must miss him.”

Mako knew where this was going. He bent down to retrieve the tarp, turning around to go beat it outside. He didn’t feel right putting this dusty thing back on his Hog without at least trying to clean it off.

“You’re just gonna cover it all up again?” Jamison chased after him, hopping over the clutter on the floor instead of walking around it.

“Yeah.” He had his real life to worry about, like the Bishop coming into town the day after next, his job being on the line, the attention Jamison would surely bring him.

“But-”

“Not another word,” Mako turned on his heels, stabbing his index finger into Jamison’s chest. “Stay out of my business.” He was pleased to see Jamison tighten up, lips taut and eyebrow twitching anxiously. Not even an apology escaped his tongue. Good.

Mako returned to his task and lifted the garage door. The wind blew past him with a sense of purpose, a few snowflakes brushing against his face. Shit, of course it had already started. Jamison yelped behind him, the cold hitting him hard. They needed to head out of there soon, but honestly any excuse was a good one for Mako.

He quickly flicked the tarp a few times and made it back inside, closing the door partially to let a bit of the remaining daylight slip through. Mako stood in front of the Hog. Funny, he had walked over here fast enough. But now he felt his body slow, like every muscle was hesitating. This was more than a bike. It was his whole identity, a symbol of who he was, of what he did, of what he could never be again. That man was gone, and now Mako had to live a life furthering God’s will. It was all he could do to make up for his sins, those actions hidden behind years of repression.

He clutched the tarp tight in his fingers, not able to tear his eyes away from the handlebars, thoughts racing, images scrambling in his mind. There was a familiar face, there were screams, there was blood. Blood on his hands. What did he...

“Mako.”

The voice snapped him into focus. Jamison held out his hand, gaze leading to the tarp in Mako’s arms. Mako closed his eyes, shoving the thing towards Jamison. He had to calm down, catch his breath. When he opened them again, Jamison had returned the bike to its tomb under the sheet.

 

The filters weren’t hard to find; they were right where Mako expected them to be. Jamison offered to carry them, and Mako let him. He had to lug a few bags of books on his own, anyway. At least Jamison contributed a little.

On the way home, they stopped by the corner grocery store to pick up a few things.The aisles were crowded with five o’clock crowds, and it was dark by the time they finally got out. The snow on the road was building up fast, but they made it home safe.

 

“Hurry, mate! I gotta piss.” Jamison rushed passed Mako with one of the brown bags, the filters tucked beneath his prosthetic.

“You could’ve gone at the store,” Mako pointed out. He pulled his scarf up to his nose for the trip inside, taking the other two sacks and leaving the books in the backseat. He had lost Jamison almost as soon as they entered the grocery, only to find him later “taste testing” all the drinks from the soda machine upfront.

“Didn’t havta go then!” He climbed to the second floor with an energy Mako just couldn’t replicate. Mako had to stop and breathe before making his own track upstairs.

He barely made it to the top when he was met with an ear shattering yelp of a bark. His next door neighbor was on her way outside to walk the dog. Odd, that thing never barked. Well, he guessed it wasn’t too odd. Jamison had backed himself onto the next set of stairs, doing his best to avoid getting close to the little beast.

“Sorry, sorry!” The woman rushed for the animal, holding it close and seemingly calming it down.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mako flipped his keys to get the right one. Jamison inched his way over, eyes glued to the dog.

“Good timing, actually. Someone came by looking for you today.”

“Oh?” Mako was surprised. It was his day off, so it could have been someone from the parish.

“He only asked for your apartment number. I didn’t tell him, wasn’t sure-”

“He leave a name?” Mako felt a sharp elbow jab into his side, Jamison stifling a whine to get inside. Mako opened the door a little so the thinner man could squeeze through.

“No, but I can tell you what he looked like. A bit taller than me, really short brown hair, a couple silver teeth-”

That’s all Mako needed to hear. He turned and scanned the parking lot, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He thanked her and shut the door behind him, probably concerning her with his abruptness but that didn’t matter. Conor. The shady fuck was following them again. He wasn’t too worried, as he was prepared this time. Any sign of the guy and Mako would show him how bad of an idea it was to screw with him.

Still, Mako made sure all the windows were locked and blinds shut tight. He wasn’t going to just standby and let anyone peek inside. For now, he had a heater to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> GOSH this update took forever! I started school a few chapters ago and it's been really difficult finding the time to write. Plus, this one I had a couple of fights with trying to get it right. I'm definitely satisfied with how it turned out.  
> Remember to leave comments! I missed y'all!


	11. Spit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako let his damp hair fall against his forehead, ghosting against his tired eyes as he stood at the mirror. Tomorrow should be a fairly easy day at work, but he still wasn’t looking forward to it. He missed the days when snow meant staying home for the day, bunkering down and keeping warm. Oh well, the most he could do now was enjoy a full night’s rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark
> 
> I have a patreon! Wanna leave a tip? You can pledge here (with rewards as low as $1 a month!):  
> https://www.patreon.com/chameleonart
> 
> \--
> 
> Smut this chapter!

Things were back in order, more or less. The apartment was clean, the fridge was full, and the heater was running as it should. Mako wiped the last of the grease from his hands and tossed the soiled rag towards the sink, making a splash inside one of the pots soaking in suds. The beef stew from dinner had left Mako feeling warm and full, and he was glad to have enough leftovers to last for a few more days. The weather reports claimed the winter freeze would last well into the following week, and may not clear up completely for quite some time. Mako felt it was a bad omen, too early and too intense to mean nothing. Perhaps it was another one of God’s punishments.

Jamison was allowed to keep one of the blankets from his pile, a thick one with a print of a tiger leaping across it. On the other side was the same image, but the tiger had a white coat instead of orange. He had it wrapped around his shoulders as he sat at the kitchen table, entertaining himself with lighting and extinguishing one of the candles Mako had put there. They were scattered in both the kitchen and living room, being the only source of light besides the lamp by the couch. Even with the blinds closed, he didn’t want to risk anyone being able to see through the cracks.

It had been a long while since Mako had to worry about things like stalkers or death threats. Back then, he had a means to deal with them. Numbers, weapons, a getaway vehicle. Nowadays he had much less of those. Instead of a fully customized hog with all the bells and whistles, he had an old rusty pick-up truck. Instead of a full arsenal of guns and the like at his disposal, he had a Desert Eagle in his night stand. Instead of a whole crew of people ready to go tooth and nail for one another, he only had himself. And Jamison, he supposed.

Mako could deal with Conor. At a moment’s notice, Mako could snap the sorry weasel’s neck with zero difficulty. But he had no idea what kind of people he had with him this time. He’d been tricked once before, and he wasn’t ready to be tricked again.

Jamison’s otherworldly abilities could come in handy in a pinch. He remembered the bar fight, that feeling of adrenaline and energy bursting in his veins as Jamison lent his hand. It was familiar, in a way. Then there was the hellfire, how with a little blood Jamison was able to tear through an entire room and get both of them to safety. And now his new trick, though irritating, could prove useful.

Mako’s eyes wandered to the demon sitting at his table. The constant snapping of his fingers and the flicker of the candle were starting to get on his nerves. Jamison seemed lost in thought, not unlike himself. Mako breathed, turning and grabbing the empty grocery sacks from the counter. Just a little more tidying and he could go get ready for bed.

“Wait, wait. Can I keep those?” Jamison forgot about the candle and spun around, wearing wide eyes and a convincing grin.

The question was unexpected, Mako taking a moment to look at the bags in his hand before returning to Jamison. “Why?” he asked.

“Wanna make somethin’. Can I use the clippers?”

Jamison? With scissors? No way in hell. Jamison must have read the look Mako gave him. He let out a wet laugh, blanket slipping from his shoulders.

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ll improvise then.” Jamison reached his hands out to grab at the bags. Mako supposed it was ok; a hobby might be good to keep Jamison’s mind occupied. He surrendered the bags, Jamison immediately moving from the table to the couch. The short coffee table had more surface area, making it a better workspace than the small two-person table in the kitchen.

Mako watched passively as he finished up the dishes. Jamison carefully undid the creases and folds of the paper sacks and laid them out flat. Mako felt like asking what exactly Jamison was trying to make, but that urge was quickly quelled when one of the corners lit up in flames.

“Absolutely not,” Mako huffed. Before he could make his way over there, Jamison hurried to put the fire out with his flesh hand. The idiot; that probably hurt. He pulled open the drawer to his left, digging around until he found what he needed.

“What ‘m I supposed t’do then? Can’t get it ‘n the right shape without-” Mako handed him a pair of scissors, a dull pair the last tenant had left behind. “Oh, thanks.” Jamison gladly accepted them, his flesh hand red and irritated.

“If I come back in here and find that you used those on anything else, you’re sleeping outside.”

“Sure,” Jamison responded, attention already elsewhere. Mako gave up. Whatever. He needed a shower, and if no scissors meant Jamison would be lighting things on fire without his supervision, then scissors it was. Mako prayed that this wouldn’t be a huge mistake.

 

Mako let his damp hair fall against his forehead, ghosting against his tired eyes as he stood at the mirror. Tomorrow should be a fairly easy day at work, but he still wasn’t looking forward to it. He missed when snow meant staying home for the day, hunkering down and keeping warm. Oh well, the most he could do now was enjoy a full night’s rest.

He soon found that was harder than it seemed. One of his favorite feelings was climbing into clean bedsheets after a long shower, the coolness of the linen being more than enough to quickly drift to sleep. But tonight, that wasn’t the case. Mako’s head hurt with racing thoughts, playing the scene at the garage over and over. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. There was something that he couldn’t remember, and that pissed him off.

He knew why he became a priest. He was a violent criminal, one that wore a mask to separate himself from his actions. At least, that’s what Father Jacob had said. Mako had gotten himself in a pretty tight spot, but that kind old priest offered him something greater than any earthly pleasure. Salvation, liberation from the things he had done. He learned the errors of his ways, and entered the priesthood as a promise to Father Jacob, after he pulled some pretty hefty legal favors. He owed him that much. But that was all, right?

He took a deep breath, rolling over to his side. He needed to stop worrying too much; this was just like trying to recall a forgotten dream. A hopeless effort, gone forever. He did his best to silence his thoughts, listening to the sounds of the night. The wind blew strong against the building, whistling softly after a particularly harsh gust. In the distance, a shrill car alarm went off for a few short seconds. Someone on the floor above was stomping through the hall with their clunky high heels before descending the staircase. Somewhere close, he could hear voices. They were quiet and analytical. In the middle of trying to figure out what they were saying, they changed completely into a loud advertisement for the newest weight loss system. Must be the television in the living room, Jamison watching while he clipped away.

He listened for a few minutes, feeling his eyes grow heavy with sleep just around the corner. The television was shut off, the soothing, jumbled voices now gone. Mako could hear Jamison ruffle the papers he had been working on, stashing them away, and then the soft shuffle of feet heading towards his bedroom. As he predicted, Jamison jiggled the handle and pulled, trying to let himself inside.

“Nnnn, Mako!” Jamison whined mostly to himself, leaning his weight on the door once he discovered it was locked. He paced a couple times, most likely debating if he should try again. “Don’t do me like this, mate.”

Mako scoffed and pulled the sheets over his shoulders. If he pretended to be asleep, Jamison usually gave up. It was warm tonight, after all, and he should be perfectly fine sleeping on his own on the couch, or finding some other way to entertain himself until morning.

“...Please.”

That was new. And so was the sound of knees sliding to the carpet and a shoulder slumping hard against the door.

“I can’t…. I can’t sleep with them watching.” Jamison’s voice shook, and he scratched lightly at the wood. Was he talking about Conor? “They won’t leave me alone!” he growled, choking out a few raspy titters.

He had already let Jamison sleep twice in his bed, and that was more than enough. Mako buried his head under the blanket, but even that couldn’t drown out the hushed sniffling and unsteady breaths emanating from the other side.

“They get closer each time. Like they know where I am, like they’re tryin’a come snatch me up again. Last night was… I didn’t see ‘em.”

Who was “they?” Mako rose to his elbows and let the sheets fall off him.

“Told ya about the dreams. It never stops. Every night…” Jamison’s voice caught in his throat. “Why can’t they just leave me be?”

“Stay awake, then.” Mako knew that was being inconsiderate, but he liked his space. This was his home, his bed. Jamison was an intruder, no matter how soft Mako felt himself becoming towards the guy. He had to limit himself somehow, prevent himself from getting too close.

Those few words had Jamison scramble to attention, and Mako could hear his horns scrape heavily against the door.

“Knew ya was fakin’ it! You’re a right cunt for leaving me out here. After all we’ve been through?” He laughed.

“Quiet,” Mako warned.

“No! I can’t keep doing this. Don’t make me. Please,” Jamison broke off, pounding the door once for good measure.

That had Mako jumping to his feet, charging towards the door and swinging it open. Jamison dodged it narrowly, stumbling back on his ass.

“I said, quiet!” Loud sounds like that were dangerous in their current predicament. At the very least, it could wake up neighbors and make people start asking questions. Mako did not need that.

“Got you to open the door, didn’t I?” Jamison’s voice did not match the smirk on his lips, and neither did the rest of him. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes unusually noticeable, puffy and red from the tears clinging to his cheeks. Mako felt like an absolute dick.

“The fuck are you even going on about?” Mako snapped, not willing to show Jamison his weakness.

Jamison bit his lip, mulling over in his head if he should answer that question. “My… my master,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“My master!” He dug his claws in the carpet, baring his teeth as if saying so left a bad taste in his mouth. “Ever since that night, when we were captured, I’ve felt them. That place was burstin’ with magic energy and like a fool I summoned fire straight from the gates of ‘ell. Might’ve well put a bloody spot light on top o’ me head like ‘Look! ‘Ere’s the poor, pathetic, sod yer lookin’ for!’ Fuckin’ stupid, I was, so stupid-”

“Stop.” He was rambling, and Mako needed answers. “Master?”

Jamison growled, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah.”

Mako knelt. Jamison was, at his full power, a being of fire and mayhem. He had seen the lives he stole, the immensity of his true body. That monster called someone else Master. And whoever it was, it was looking for Jamison.

“Are we in any danger?” Mako felt a tremor in his chest. Not fear, more like urgency.

Jamison sputtered. “No, ‘course not-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“No! They’d havta leave ‘ell ta get here. Not an easy task, mind you. Bastards won’t do that for one measly imp.”

“Are you sure?” Mako didn’t need to worry about some giant Hell beast on top of everything else. This was too much.

“Yes! Sure, I’m sure. Ninety percent, sure.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Jamison whined, exhaustion taking over. “I can’t do any better than that. ‘Sides, I’ve got you to ward ‘em off anyhow.”

Mako gave one last hardened glare at Jamison. He breathed in through his nose and wiped the sleep that had begun to form in the corners of his eyes. They were both needing rest. He turned around and looked back at his bed. It sat empty, sheets overturned as it waited for him. Jamison was thin, and the mattress was plenty big enough for two… He had barely noticed the second body in there with him the previous nights.

When he looked back at Jamison, he was already getting himself to his feet and heading towards the small opening Mako had left between himself and the doorframe.

“Wait,” Mako said, blocking Jamison with his wide palm.

“C’mon-”

“One condition.”

Jamison lit up, standing at his full height.

“Brush your teeth.”

 

It didn’t take much to convince Jamison. The argument was short, sleeping in the same bed as Mako ultimately worth the minor inconvenience. Mako sat on the mattress while Jamison stood at the mirror, his unsteady hands squeezing an oversized glob of toothpaste on the brush Mako bought him. He seemed hesitant, sparing the occasional glance at Mako through the doorway. He had to make sure Jamison actually did it.

He took the brush to his mouth, cautiously pressing the end to his unruly teeth. He clenched them tightly together, his strokes unsure and slow. Mako had to roll his eyes, did Jamison not know how to brush his teeth? The kid used to be human, right? Surely he knew how. Unless, well, Mako didn’t know how long ago exactly Jamison was a human. Maybe they didn’t, back then. But he had seen Mako do it enough, and he was a fast learner. He shouldn’t need help.

Jamison, however, continued struggling. He gave up, turning towards Mako with a groan. “M’ah d’ne?” he asked through the foam, some trickling down his chin.

“Not by a longshot.” Mako stood. One time, and that’s it, he’d show Jamison what to do. If he was going to be sleeping by him every night, he was not going to deal with smelling his awful breath.

Jamison gratefully handed Mako the brush when he demanded it.

“Lean your head back, open your mouth,” he instructed. Jamison did so, but not wide enough. Mako used his free hand to grab Jamison’s jaw, pulling it open.

Jamison’s mouth was a mix of yellows and blacks, his canine-like teeth the sharpest in the front and dulling towards his molars. Mako felt a heaviness in his gut; this creature was definitely not one of God’s creations. His dark tongue pulled itself back as far as it could go, bracing for whatever Mako was going to do.

“You need to brush every side, not just the front.” Mako brought the toothbrush up, sliding it over the crowns of each tooth. Jamison’s brows furrowed in concentration, Mako moving the brush at a much quicker pace than Jamison was used to. “And don’t swallow any of this, alright?”

Jamison tried to nod, but Mako held onto his face too securely. He settled for a loose “uh-huh” instead. Mako moved onto the backs of each tooth before too much foam pooled at the underside of Jamison’s tongue.

“Pay attention,” Mako said after noticing Jamison started to fidget. His feet shifted underneath him and his hands weren’t sure how to busy themselves. He gave a short sound of acknowledgement, eyes moving from Mako’s face to the floor. Mako could feel Jamison’s cheeks growing warm. Was he embarrassed, or…

Mako clamped Jamison’s mouth shut, hurrying onto the outside. He made sure to brush along the gums, and Jamison jerked in surprise. Considering he had never had a toothbrush in his mouth before, his gums were most likely sensitive. He grunted, eyes becoming glassy and wet, and drool seeping from the corners of his lips.

“You okay?” Mako asked, and this time he loosened his grip a little to let Jamison nod, eyes coming back to meet Mako’s. When they locked, Mako could feel his own cheeks begin to burn. He quickly looked down to his handiwork, avoiding any type of eye contact. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing while he finished up. This was… intimate, to say the least.

He turned and twisted the knob on the sink, letting the cool water fall. “Spit,” he said, a little too weakly and a little too fast. Jamison obliged, nearly gagging as he let all the foam spill from his mouth into the bowl. He coughed, spitting a second time, tongue lolling out in an attempt to wash the taste away. Mako would need to make sure they worked on those gums of his, as a bit of blood was mixed in the water now going down the drain.

Mako rinsed off the brush and placed in the holder next to his, leaving Jamison alone to wash his face.

“Did I do good?” Jamison asked while Mako buried himself in his sheets, back facing the open doorway.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Do it yourself next time.”

 

It was late, by this point, and if Mako wasn’t looking forward to going to work in the morning before, he was dreading it by now. All the lights in the apartment were off, doors closed, and the sound of wind whistling was the only thing distracting Mako from the body lying closely behind him, and the hand lightly petting his skin.

Jamison traced his fingers along the hair of Mako’s arm, down to his knuckles. They stayed there for a moment, feeling the rough skin and the size of his digits. Mako guessed Jamison thought he had already passed out, because when he took his fist away, he heard him suppress a gasp.

“Go to sleep,” Mako warned. Jamison just pressed himself closer, the cold metal decorating his horns sending a chill up Mako’s spine. He nestled his face between Mako’s shoulder blades and groaned deep in his throat.

“Can’t,” he answered.

Clearly. Mako breathed out a hard sigh, turning over to lay on his back. If he was to be honest with himself, they were most likely awake for the same reason. Jamison responded to this new position by coiling his arm around Mako’s, his good hand tentatively resting on Mako’s chest. Mako was too old for this.

“Just ask.”

Jamison whipped his head up. “What?”

Ugh. Mako used the hand that wasn’t currently being held captive to rub his face, scratching at his hairy chin. They were grown men. They didn’t need to play this game, especially if it meant being able to sleep afterwards.

“Ask. That’s all you need to do.”

Jamison’s tail flicked, trying to find the right response. “You’ll just push me away.”

“I’m tired. If I get you off, will you sleep?”

Jamison was not ready for that response. He giggled, letting go so he could sit up and look at Mako in the eye. “You mean it?”

“Yes.” Mako waited, the soft moonlight being the only means of seeing the lustful expression on Jamison’s face. His eyes were heavy, but his body buzzed with a newfound energy.

“Touch me... Please?”

That was good enough for Mako. He heaved himself up, going into the bathroom to retrieve a towel. When he returned, Jamison had splayed himself over the sheets, legs spread and hand resting on his hip.

“How will ya have me?” Jamison asked, that layer of confidence back in his voice.

“As you are.”

“Oh! What a charmer.”

If that was a joke, Mako failed to find it funny. He turned his bedside lamp on and moved to the bottom of the bed, grabbing Jamison’s good leg and lifting his ass a little too roughly to put the towel underneath. Jamison chuckled eagerly at the action, plopping down with a bounce. Mako’s grip moved to Jamison’s ankle, to his foot, to keep his legs spread while he situated himself on the bed between them. His thumb brushed against the pads of Jamison’s foot; they were pink and soft.

“Weird, right?” Jamison commented, noticing Mako’s shift in interest. “What’ll they come up with next?”

Mako grunted in reply, pushing his thumb in the center of the padding. Jamison spat out a laugh and tried to yank his foot away. He was right, it was weird.

Mako wasn’t in the mood for anything but quick tonight so he let go, moving straight to business. They had plenty of opportunities for more time-consuming methods another night. For now, Mako ran his palm down the tight muscles of Jamison’s stomach, going over that short patch of hair below his navel. Mako’s imagination had been correct; it was exceptionally soft. He thumbed across it, Jamison cooing and lifting his hips to increase the pressure.

This was, suffice to say, a learning experience. Mako did his best to respond correctly to Jamison’s squirming. He pushed his thumb lower, going as far as Jamison’s taint, then brought it back up. He repeated the motion, pressing a little harder each time.

He began to recognize a particular spot just below Jamison’s slit that had the demon whimper and twitch each time he passed it. Ah, there they were. Two small lumps barely making themselves known. He focussed on them for a moment, tracing his thumb between and around them, and when the pink lips began to leak, he knew he had done something right.

Mako switched to his index finger, slipping it along the wet opening. Jamison spread his legs a little further, bucking at the sensation.

“Ah-”

“Don’t move.” Mako used his other hand to hold Jamison’s hips in place. He rubbed his finger up and down, until he felt something begin to push back. Jamison bit his lip, his breathing quickened, and Mako’s hand was met with an excess of slime and the heat of Jamison’s hardened cock. He wondered if that had hurt Jamison at all, since there was now a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He didn’t seem to mind it when he wrapped his fingers around the thing, pumping slow and steady. Mako didn’t have much to compare it to, as this was definitely the first dick of its kind that he had seen. However, he considered it to be a good size: long, somewhat skinny, with a slight curve.

“Awh…” Jamison breathed hard, mouth hanging open with a grin stretching his lips. He had the stump of his right arm draped over his eyes, the cool skin offering some relief to the warmness of his face.

Mako was doing his best to keep Jamison grounded, the strength of his hand unrelenting on his hips. He picked up his pace, twisting his wrist. Jamison moaned with each panting breath.

“Shit. Shit, Mako.” Jamison pressed his foot on Mako’s thigh, gripping him with those long toes of his.

God damn it all. Why did he have to go and say his name? Mako could feel the tent in his boxers, his erection straining at the sight before him. If he didn’t have to be up in four hours, he would’ve been fucking him by now.

Jamison’s wings unfolded themselves, flapping in an attempt to free himself from the pressure that kept him on the mattress. He arched his spine the best he could, and his good hand pulled hard at the blanket below him. He was getting close.

Mako squeezed, picking up the pace. Jamison was practically howling as he neared his finish. Mako couldn’t understand how someone could be so loud. He was literally just jerking him off. Did it excite Jamison that much?

“Ah- I’m-” Jamison went quiet, and his grin vanished as he climaxed. Mako milked him for what it was worth, then wiped his hand on the towel underneath. As he expected, he felt that surge of energy run through his own body. It wasn’t enough to get himself off, but Jamison was already half asleep, muttering "Thank you, thank you," under the heaviness of his breath. Mako took the dirty towel and stood, the weight in his boxers making it awkward to walk

“Wher’ya goin’?” Jamison asked, tiredly lifting his head. “Your turn, righ’?”

“What can _you_ do?” Mako pointed out. Jamison only laughed before laying back down.

Mako deposited the towel in the hamper and prayed the bathroom wouldn’t smell like sex in the morning. He stood in front of the toilet bowl and began to stroke himself. It was then that he noticed the scratches on his thigh, thin trails of blood running down his leg. Jamison’s claws must have punctured his skin when he came. It was a little amusing how he didn’t notice. Oh well, Jamison would most likely have his own share of bruises in the morning. It was only fair.

When he got back after taking care of himself, Jamison was asleep, his erection tucked back away. The bed must have gotten too hot for him when Mako entered the sheets; he rolled further away on his stomach as soon as Mako got too close. Mako had to agree with him, maybe the heater was working a little too well at the moment. He laid on his side, eyes drooping until he couldn’t hold them open any longer.  Mako wanted to ask himself how he got in this situation, but he had done that too many times already.

For now, he guessed, it was fine to take things how they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> OKAY two updates this month, not bad! School will be over in two weeks so I'm hoping to resume a weekly schedule after. Also alternate title for this chapter: everyone finds out chameleon's weird specific kinks. More smut on the way; we're getting to the good parts here. Remember to comment!


	12. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stagnant air tasted of rust and mold. Dust reflected in the soft rays of tinted sunlight, falling steadily without fear of being disturbed. It traced against the stone walls, delicately landing on the abandoned pews, the empty pulpit, and the blood stained floor. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. It was Jamison’s own personal Hell, and he certainly had something to compare it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this, and to all those RR fans who inspired me to write something for this AU.  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark
> 
> I have a patreon! Wanna leave a tip? You can pledge here (with rewards as low as $1 a month!):  
> https://www.patreon.com/chameleonart

The stagnant air tasted of rust and mold. Dust reflected in the soft rays of tinted sunlight, falling steadily without fear of being disturbed. It traced against the stone walls, delicately landing on the abandoned pews, the empty pulpit, and the blood stained floor. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. It was Jamison’s own personal Hell, and he certainly had something to compare it to.

When he realized where he had been summoned, it was too late to turn back. His plan, his oh so perfect plan, had foiled itself as soon as he stepped foot on Holy Ground. Sure, he had back ups, plans B’s, tricks upon tricks up his sleeves. But no matter what he tried, all his efforts were fruitless. He should have double checked, triple checked, and even checked again before taking the first open door he had found leading to the surface. His haste had always been his downfall.

He remembered that night. It was a late service, brought together by a widespread concern of witchcraft and demon magic taking place in the dark behind the crop fields. It was all too familiar, and he immediately understood the situation when he found himself in the crypts below the church. The small group of people who had conjured him were awestruck, as if they didn’t expect their magic to actually work. They had used old spells, holy corpses and virgin blood lining the candlelit pentagram.

“Kill them,” they commanded. “One life for each they took from us.”

He did as he was told, as per the contract he was bound to. Not a soul escaped the sanctuary, hellfire consuming everything it touched. The thrill fueled him; the high of chaos blinding any sliver of humanity he had left. Their screams, the smell of burning flesh, the earth shaking and building crumbling under the weight of his power; it was fun. Liberating. Until it was over.

The walls of the church held strong, the doors remaining shut and windows unbreakable. He was trapped, and when he returned to the crypts to confront the spell casters, they were nowhere to be seen. Called upon and abandoned, left to rot within Holy Ground. Those bastards were smart; Jamison would have ripped them to shreds if he had found them. Wish harm on others, get it back threefold. Now he was stuck, unable to return to Hell and walled off from the outside world.

He tried everything, even using the same magic that brought him there. There was no shortage of corpses, holy objects, herbs and incenses, but nothing worked. Weeks, months, years went by. His magic dwindled, a body once great and full of power now wilting. He could barely hold a physical form, fading in and out of existence.

The light hurt his eyes. He did not find purpose in pacing the halls any more. There was no meaning to it, as all it did was just prolong the inevitable. Weakly, his legs moved him below. Into the crypts, away from the sun. Like a smoldering flame, he fell to the ground to sleep. There was nothing left to do.

As he slumbered, he dreamt of the life he had before everything turned to shit. His old house, the river behind the woods, the cave he liked to play adventurer in, his mother. He was born a cripple, his right arm and leg malformed and useless. Despite this and the demand from his father to put him in an orphanage, she saw the best in him. She kept him home, teaching him all she could while his siblings made lives for themselves. Thinking about her hurt, knowing she’d be disgusted by what he had become. Everyone else was. 

It was never a good idea to dwell on what happened. Jamison knew there was no going back. Every time his thoughts made a turn for the worst, he woke from his slumber. Usually he would fall right back into unconsciousness, but something was different. He wasn’t alone. Footsteps scuffled above him, small fits of laughter accompanying them. For the first time in decades, he had hope.

Warily he rose from the dirt beneath him. He was only a shadow of his former self, his body weak and mind in a haze. And yet, his resolve remained as strong as ever.

 

“What I tell ya? It's all hogwash. There’s nothin’ here.”

“I don't know… Feels like there are eyes in the walls…”

“Nah, you're just a scaredy-cat.”

“And yer not?”

“Not one bit!”

“Oh yeah? Then… I dare ya to go downstairs.”

“To the cemetery?”

“Sure, if you're so brave.”

“Hah! W-watch, I can do it.”

 

Jamison’s chest filled with determination. Easy pickings! Luck was being kind to him today, handing him the perfect meal on a silver platter. The footsteps were headed straight for him, and his arms were open wide and ready.

A warm, flickering light descended the staircase. The closer it got, the slower it moved. It was hesitant, and rightly so. Jamison clung to the walls as a veil of smoke, waiting for the unsuspecting vessel to show its face.

Shadows danced in the corridor, the boy standing just at the mouth of the hall. Jamison reached for him, only to be met with a shriek and the shattering of glass.

“Got you!” One of the other teens were laughing, having snuck up on the first to shove him roughly into the open. He turned around, as if to yell abuse at his friend for nearly giving him a heart attack, but was met with a bright heat biting at his ankles.

The lantern had broke, the spilt oil igniting and illuminating the entire space. Jamison reeled back, his eyes sensitive to the light. They saw it all: the broken caskets and piles of bodies. In this moment of shock, Jamison pounced. A rush of black mist overtook the boy. He had to find something, anything, that would let him take control.

Children were innocent creatures, open-minded and gullible to outside influence. But… their bodies were weak. Jamison may not have much magic to speak of, but a vessel like this would only serve as a temporary arrangement. All he needed was a way outside; he could find something stronger later.

Screams rang in his ears, and two pairs of hands pushed and prodded at him. He was torn clean off, the kids turning and running. They pulled their friend behind them, almost dragging him up the stone steps.

Jamison grew dizzy, the light of the fire blinding him. He couldn’t give up yet, his only chance of escape was just out of reach. With a roar, he mustered up the strength to follow. He rushed forward, swirling in a cloud of smoke and lightning. He grabbed at the figures ahead of him, managing to take hold of a shirt tail.

He yanked, but they yanked back. A fist was thrown, but Jamison’s body fazed through it. This one would do just as well as the other. He pulled, vision clearing for just a moment as he entered the other mind. He felt sick, the world spinning around him. He vomited, black gook bursting from the back of his throat.

But… he was in. He laughed, the ooze clinging to his face. Despite the darkness of night, he could see the familiar pews and stone. Behind the other teens laid freedom; the large iron doors that served as his prison cracked open just enough to squeeze through. It was time! He shoved his way by, running as fast as his new body could hold him.

His legs went numb. An ill-placed stone was his downfall, and he slammed face first into the tiles below him. He struggled to move, and somewhere nearby a voice yelled to him. It was a name he didn’t recognize, and a plea to stop. The doors were so close. Tears filled the beds of his eyes and he screamed, a sound loud enough to send a new wave of dust crashing down from the ceiling. The pleas wouldn’t cease. When he tried to get up, his body betrayed him.

Was he really this weak? This was an ordinary kid, and he couldn’t make him walk a few meters? Jamison felt light headed, the room becoming dark and cloudy. The last thing he remembered was a gust of autumn wind and the smell of fresh air. Then… nothing.

He lost it. His only way outside had evaded him. He had fucked it all up, just like usual. He was no more than a disembodied consciousness, the rest of his energy gone. He mourned, and the land became cursed.

 

There was no telling how much time had passed. His world was nothing but darkness, his eyes blind and ears deaf to all around him. It was a haze, but it wasn’t like he cared anymore. The seasons changed but he remained the same, trapped in the crypts for eternity.

So he thought. He hadn’t dreamt in so long, but this must have been one. He felt the presence of a stranger, their form unidentifiable. Human? Demon? Friend or Foe? He couldn’t tell. A river was born, the water flowing towards him and splashing at his face. He was washed away, pushed along violently into an intense white light.

He was awake. Standing in front of him was a man in black, but his features were indistinguishable. Jamison could feel his strength, his size, his aura. Words he could not understand spilled from the man’s mouth, his voice deep and bellowing. Everything about him was more than ideal. It was fate; Jamison could find no other explanation. This man was the perfect vessel, and he would be a fool to not leap at the opportunity.

With a tender touch, he stroked the man’s cheek. The figure knelt, leaving himself completely at Jamison’s mercy. His joy knew no bounds, and with a whisper of “finally,” he dove in. This man had a lengthy history, and Jamison could tell the process would be a long one.  The connection was deep, and memories that did not belong to him flooded his thoughts as their very selves combined.

There was blood. Jamison was overcome with a sharp pain, an unknown force blocking his path. He was a Man of God, of course it was too good to be true. The images of the man’s past vanished and he found himself falling, no floor beneath him. He screamed for help, fear and hopelessness bubbling in his chest. With an outstretched hand, he desperately tried to grab onto something, anything, before he fell into the abyss.

What he found was cold, hard like stone and unrelenting to his weight. He looked up at his savior, and what he saw was two silver eyes glaring down at him. He was holding onto the tusk of a boar, the biggest he had ever seen. The ground was under Jamison’s feet once more, and carefully he let go. The beast huffed hot air from its snout and flicked its tail before turning away, disappearing as quick as it had come.

Jamison could not begin to understand what had just happened, but he was safe. That was all that mattered. At last he was on his way out, and he let himself fall asleep once more.

The world he woke to was not as he remembered. He heard stories down below of how the surface had changed, but there was nothing that could prepare him for just how much it did. Huge machines used as transportation, small devices that sung and showed pictures. He wanted to see it all, to see what became of the world that was ripped away from him all those centuries ago.

He needed a plan. The first step was to sit back and learn, using the eyes of his vessel. Mako was his name. A dirty priest. It certainly came natural to him: He lusted, he stole, he hated, his beliefs were without foundation. Underneath the facade of a Holy Man was someone completely different, a man that desperately wanted release. Jamison found his angle. Appeal to his personality, the parts of him fueled by violence and greed, and leech off the results of his actions.

It was easy; Jamison didn’t have to do much at all. By having the title of Priest, Mako was supposed to dedicate his life to the Church’s precious Holy Book. Anytime he did something, even a little something, that went against its teachings, it fueled Jamison’s power.

However, the stronger he got, the more aware his vessel would become. He needed ways to keep control, ways to weaken Mako’s body and mind. It started with turning off the radio. The minor inconvenience left Mako alone with his thoughts, slowly boiling from the inside out. His mind became vulnerable, and Jamison sent him dreams of torment every night. The next was a lowered appetite. Jamison went as far as unplugging the fridge, letting the food spoil and rot so Mako couldn’t eat even if he wanted to.

Jamison had made Mako perpetually hungry, irritated, bored, and exhausted. A flawless formula for success. And at last, he found the perfect moment to strike. The display of violence and bloodshed at the bar served as the final catalyst; Jamison’s power was nearly bursting at the seams.

He was free. Free from his master, free from his prison, free from that human vessel. It was glorious, and all the pieces of his plan fell neatly into place. Until Mako ruined it. Jamison thought it was funny when he called on the Word of God. He didn’t think anything would come of it; Mako had little faith and he was fucking up the recitations. There was no way it would bear fruit, but by impossible odds, it did. Only, it was some fucked up abomination.

All of his power, his might and mass, his own immortality, it was all gone. Trapped inside him, wrapped in chains and a lock without a key. He had only escaped his last prison to enter a new one: the body and existence of a mortal, cursed to face the man he had possessed.

Mako was exceptionally strong willed. With ease, he had broken away from Jamison’s grasp. And now Jamison would have to pay for his actions, face whatever punishment Mako deemed necessary. He was prepared to die, and when the curse wouldn’t let him, he was ready for torture. But it never came, and Mako’s rage was replaced with something he couldn’t fathom. Was it mercy? Pity?

Regardless, Mako had chosen to treat Jamison like an actual person. Mending him up, clothing him, feeding and looking after him. He talked to him, listened to him. It may not have seemed much to Mako, but it was for Jamison. The last person he could confide in was his mother. When she died, he had no one. With her gone, he was outcast from his home as a liability, left to fend for himself in an unforgiving world.

Mako was kind when he wished to be, in his own way. Everything about him was magnificent: his strength, his body, his spirit. Jamison wanted it all. He wanted to bask in it, be consumed by it, call it his and his alone. Was there a word for how he felt?

 

Jamison breathed heavy, jolting himself awake. He sweat in heaps, body trembling and heart pumping as hard as it could. He saw his master, and his master saw him. No, it was just a dream. A nightmare. He was fine, lying back on the sofa Mako had let him sleep on. It was better than the bathtub, though a little colder. He swallowed down his nerves, repeating to himself that it had meant nothing.

There was no way he would be able to fall back asleep now. He looked towards the television and considered turning it on as a distraction, but his attention shifted to the white door to its side. Mako was sleeping in there, in the privacy of his own room. If Jamison was to be honest with himself, he was pissed at the guy. He nearly had them both killed, and the argument that followed left a sour taste on his tongue. But… he apologized. It was genuine, and the words rung in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, the sight of Mako underneath him. At the time, Jamison was furious. But now… his stomach felt warm and tingly.

He had felt this before, when he was human. His little crushes never went anywhere. People looked at him and felt nothing; to them he was just another homeless cripple. His hand was his only means of release. And right now, that sounded really good. But he had a problem. This body lacked anything between the legs. It wasn't fair. He could feel arousal, feel the need to humor it, but what could he do?

He palmed at his crotch in desperation, frustrated grunts and whines escaping his throat. Fuck it all, he cursed, rubbing harder still. It hurt, what he was doing, but the only thing on his mind was getting off. The skin turned pink under the friction, muscles shifted and an intense sting of pain shot through his pelvis. Something thick and wet touched his fingers, and Jamison was worried he had cut himself.

He looked down, and what he found wasn’t blood. His skin had split, and clear fluid eased itself out around a black… thing. He was half terrified at first, but then it clicked. Hungrily, he reached for it, wrapping his good hand around the base and stroking it, pulling it until its full length was in the open air. It felt as good as he remembered, albeit a little strange. He closed his eyes and relished in the sensation, leaning into the couch cushions and letting his mouth hang open.

There was a sound nearby him, other than his needy whimpers and moans. He peeked through his lidded eyes just in time to see the door in front of him sneak shut. Mako. He had seen him. Oh, he had  _ seen _ him. There was no shouting, no scolding or telling him to knock it off. The thought had him pump with a newfound energy. What he would give to have him watch! Or better yet, have him come out and join him. His imagination was full of the possibilities, different scenarios playing in his mind.

His hands, his lips, his broad chest, his impressive girth. Jamison groaned, imagining what it would be like to experience it all up close and personal. That was more than enough to send him overboard, his come spilling into his hand and dripping to his stomach. He laid back to cool down, satisfied and spent, when another wave of euphoria washed over him.

That was unexpected. He sat up, digging his toes into the carpet. He was trying to make sense of it when he heard the ruffle of bed sheets and the sound of running sink water coming from the other side of the wall. No… Mako didn’t… did he? His thoughts went wild trying to explain it, when a shiver ran its way up his spine. The heat from his stomach had subsided, and he was left to face the cold of the apartment. Alone. He couldn’t get Mako out of his mind. He was big, warm. He could fix this.

Jamison stood, stepping lightly as to not make any sound as he headed towards the bedroom door. He waited and listened for any signs of life. When the silence persisted, he turned the handle.

 

Days passed and Jamison found himself in Mako’s bed for a third time. Only, he didn’t have to sneak his way in. He hadn’t actually believed Mako would end up returning his advances, but here he was: warm, content, and pressed up against the skin of his back. It felt unreal. He wasn’t sure what he did exactly to deserve this, after having struggled for so long on his own. He hoped this wasn’t some awful joke.

He still had his plans, though they were rough and more like distant dreams. But where he originally saw one, instead he saw two. He grinned, wrapping himself in the sheets. It was them against the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT but it's finally here!!!!! I really wanted to explore Jamison's side of things, so here ya'll go. Hope you guys are ready for things to start moving again.


	13. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opened the cabinet with a click and ducked inside, turning himself around and situating himself on the wooden seat. He slipped his bag underneath it and sat back, ready to wait. And that’s what he did. Sometimes he would catch stragglers from the service, but it looked like today they must have all already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this!  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark
> 
> I have a patreon! Wanna leave a tip? [You can pledge here (with rewards as low as $1 a month!)](https://www.patreon.com/chameleonart)
> 
> !This chapter is NSFW!

It was quiet. The winter clouds that hung overhead were thick and heavy, masking the light of the moon and stars. The sky was black, lifeless. Dead. Snow fell from nothingness, making not a sound as it came to rest on the freezing ground below. No cars occupied the streets, and the windows of each building nearby held seldom more than darkness.

There was no wind outside of the truck. The air was still, feeling cold and dry in their chests. A mixture of snow and ice crunched under their feet as they walked across the pavement. Breath came out in white puffs, and Jamison wrapped himself further in the scarf and knitted hat Mako had lent him. The longer he spent trudging through the snow, the faster he walked. Mako watched him bounce and skip to the stone steps, avoiding as much skin contact with the ground as possible. It reminded him of a field mouse as it would hop away from the jaws of a predator.

Mornings like these were not rare for Mako. While many businesses and schools closed their doors due to the weather, the Church did no such thing. It was meant to be a place of shelter and refuge for lost souls, available whenever it was needed. Shutting down for a little ice could mean catastrophe for those who longed for spiritual guidance in their trying times.

The only vehicles in the parking lot were the familiar ones of his coworkers. When they finally entered the large double doors, the lobby was empty as expected. The only exception was Father Nathaniel, who sat comfortably on the leather couch in the waiting area. He was an older gentlemen with thick moles and silver hair, far past the age of retirement but with no plans of doing so. He noticed Mako enter and gave him a soft smile, the wrinkles of his eyes crinkling.

He shared a good morning, which Mako politely returned. He rarely interacted with the man outside of necessity, but he did appreciate the friendly face. He had been part of this church’s staff for as long as Mako could remember. Nathaniel went back to waiting, hoping for some weary believer to enter those doors. Both of them knew it wouldn’t happen; People were less willing to spend the effort to attend Mass with a blizzard fast on the approach.

 

The service went on, nevertheless. Much to their surprise, a handful of people did show up. Yet even in the safety of the chapel, it was cold. Each one was bundled tightly in their respective coats and jackets, eyes tired and expressions worn. It must have been the gloomy weather that brought such a sense of dread over the parish, which in turn led them to the chapel today.

Jamison’s long body sprawled itself across one of the empty pews as he dug through a handbag he had swiped. Mako watched him take out the various items: a cell phone, lipstick, dollar bills, and whatever else. He’d mostly fiddle with it then put it back, but some things he pocketed for himself. Of the items Mako had managed to see, he could not figure out the correlation between them. They were nonsense like safety pins and hair ties. Trash. Oh well, as long as he wasn’t stealing IDs or credit cards, it was fine.

Mako could tell he was growing bored. Jamison turned to lay on his back and flipped through one of the hymn books. Mako was less pleased to see him rip a few pages out and drop the rest to the hard floor. That would need to be replaced. Closing his eyes, Jamison ventured his flesh hand down to scratch his stomach, showing the soft skin of his abdomen.

Mako leaned back in his chair and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. They were both exhausted. He should have let Jamison in his room from the start if it meant being fully rested. He could enforce a strict bedtime… forbid any funny business… fix their sleep schedule… finally have more energy… for later...

“...”

“...”

“... Hey. You listenin’?”

Mako felt a sharp pain on the curve of his ear and jolted awake. The little shit. He turned to look at the culprit who bit him, but the sly thing had retreated behind the chair. Out of reach, unable to be reprimanded without causing a scene. Mako supposed he couldn’t be too angry. He had nearly fallen asleep in the middle of prayer. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but… that was not something he needed to make a habit out of. He was already on thin ice as it was.

“Was sayin’ how it’s funny for someone who ain’t ever been dead to try an’ describe what it’s like to kick the bucket.” Jamison pressed his weight against the back of the chair, propping himself up on his elbows. Mako hadn’t been listening to the sermon. If he remembered correctly, this week Father Luke was discussing man’s purpose on earth and how one enters the Gates of Heaven.

“You religious types have some colorful ideas as to what the afterlife’s like. Some truths to it, but it’s never what’s expected. No way of knowing till you’re the one six feet undah.” Jamison snickered, resting his chin on Mako’s shoulder. The gesture was overly friendly, and Mako instinctively brushed him off. Jamison didn’t let that stop him, and instead swayed and stepped in front of Mako to continue his rambling.

“You got a buncha suits in a circle, decidin’ what ‘appens after you die... ‘N the rules on how to get there. They slap it all in a book an’ claim God told ‘em so. Then the common folk just take it without an ounce of skepticism, ‘cause who are they to question the men with the power?”

Mako had to take a deep breath to keep himself from forcing the guy to shut up. The room was quiet except for the soft voice of Father Luke as he closed the service in prayer; any whisper of denial or disinterest would surely be noticed. While it would be interesting to hear about the true nature of what comes after death, he wasn’t so sure Jamison was enough of a credible source. Demons will be demons, always trying to tear believers away from the Bible’s teachings with sweet temptations and well-spun stories.

“Course I ain’t really one ta’ talk.” Jamison pivoted on his foot and fell back, landing directly in Mako’s lap. His bony ass stabbed his thigh and Mako clenched his fist. “My death wasn’t exactly typical.”

Jamison was sure making himself comfortable. Mako felt the faint warmness of his cheeks as the skinnier body leaned back and pressed itself into his gut. If Jamison had done this only a few days ago, Mako would have thrown him off and blamed it on a cockroach if any were to ask. Today he had no desire to spare the effort.

“Had a little outside help with that one. Cut a few corners.”

Jamison tilted his head back, the point of his horn jabbing into the robes of Mako’s chest. Irritating. It was only natural for Jamison to choose the only time when Mako could not speak to him as the perfect chance to unload about his dark and dreary past. As much as Mako would like to say the opposite, he did have questions. Especially after the conversation they had last night.

Not that it mattered at the moment. Father Luke was done with his prayer, so the congregation stood for the dimming of the candles and to sing the final hymn. Mako hauled himself out of the creaking chair and Jamison took the hint, getting back on his feet.

To Mako’s surprise, Jamison didn’t run off. He stayed close as they sang. Stayed close as Mako followed the other priests down the aisle. Stayed close as the parish chatted amongst one another after the service. Normally by now he would be off setting traps and people watching. Mako couldn’t help but wonder if something was on his mind.

No one was in a hurry to leave when it was over. Father Luke had coffee and muffins placed in the lobby. The atmosphere was warm, despite the world outside. Mako was only able to stand a few minutes; having less people than normal made the interactions feel too personal. He retreated to his office, Jamison trailing behind.

 

“You’ll stay in here?” Mako didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway. He took the last bite of his poppy seed muffin and sucked the crumbs from his fingers before tossing the paper into the garbage bin next to the door. Jamison nodded in response as he buried his teeth into his own stash of muffins, saying something Mako couldn’t understand through all the food in his mouth. He didn’t care much as to how Jamison entertained himself during the day, just that he didn’t bring too much attention to himself.

Mako took his bag and left for confessions. The lobby had emptied, and the hallways were barren. The wall lamps had even been turned off, leaving only the little bit of light coming through the windows to illuminate the space. The darkness only served to rouse a yawn from Mako’s throat as he arrived at the smaller chapel at the end of the corridor. The delicate light of the snowy morning was just barely enough to reveal the rows of pews, the wooden panels along the wall, and the old altar towering behind the priest’s pulpit. Everything in here was original to the building at its construction all those decades ago, all except the brand new confessional booth where Mako spent the majority of his time in at work.

He opened the cabinet with a click and ducked inside, turning himself around and situating himself on the wooden seat. He slipped his bag underneath it and sat back, ready to wait. And that’s what he did. Sometimes he would catch stragglers from the service, but it looked like today they must have all already left.

Close to an hour passed before the first person came.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

That was Father Nathaniel’s voice, rich with age and remnants of his southern roots. Mako found himself sitting up straighter, as if his every action would be scrutinized by his senior. Not that it would make any difference, as neither could properly see the other. Mako heard the familiar ruffle of cloth as the Father made the sign of the cross over his chest, as per tradition.

“It has been seven months and twelve days since my last confession.”

“May God help you in your confession this day,” Mako returned, keeping to the script. Father Luke and many of the other staff all came to do confessions regularly, but it was indeed Mako’s first time hearing from Father Nathaniel since he had been ordained. He half wondered if he was avoiding him on purpose, but Mako always concluded that doing wrong must come hard for a man like him: Old and set in his ways, having lived a long life dedicated to the Church.

“I’ve done many things in my years that I am not proud of.” Father Nathaniel cleared his throat, his words carrying a faint rasp. “Many things that I have grown to regret. I used to not believe in exceptions…”

Mako listened carefully to the silence that washed over them, the only sounds being Father Nathaniel’s shaky breath as he considered his next statement.

“I thought it was the right thing to do. We all did. But now I see the consequences of our actions, nearly a decade between then and now. We set in motion something much bigger than we could have possibly hoped to comprehend. God’s work. The Devil’s work.”

Mako swallowed, unaware that he had been holding his breath. It is not his place to pass judgement, only to provide solace and reassurance by the Word of God. But here he sat on the edge of his seat, knowing whatever Father Nathaniel was speaking of held great significance.

“It’s up to you now, Mako, to atone for what we did. I don’t have the energy like I used to, and the Church is too stubborn to see when it’s done wrong. I’ve made a promise not to say any more. I’m sorry for these and all my sins.”

That surprised Mako to hear the use of his first name, so much so that he nearly forgot his duty as priest to assign penance. And what was that bit about himself having to be the one to atone? Confessions was not the time or place to ask questions, all he could do was let them stir in his mind.

“Reflect on your actions and make it right with those you wronged. In the eyes of the Lord you will find forgiveness if you do these things.”

They prayed together, and Mako waited for that “click” signaling the penitent had left. But it didn’t come. Did he wish to continue?

“Father-”

“I’ve left a note for you on your desk. Read it if you wish to understand. I’m going home early today, and Father Luke has instructed me to offer you the same. Leave whenever you like... Ungodly weather we’re having.”

And he was gone. Mako made himself wait until he could no longer hear the Father’s footsteps before allowing himself to lean back and rub his face. It had been some time since his last shave. He could probably stand to do so once more before the brunt of winter, the let it grow until spring. It might make him seem older… His mind ventured back to the words his senior had spared him, and to the note. He wondered what it would say. Was it even acceptable to simply go up and read it with no provocation? Mako could be in over his head with this task.

He probably already was, if he were honest with himself. Jamison’s distress the night before kept clawing away at him. They couldn’t keep going on like this, something was bound to happen. But what? He needed to wait until his meeting with the bishop tomorrow before he let himself worry too much about additional matters.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts raced with concerns for his past, for the future, for himself and for Jamison. There were details surrounding the deal he had made with Father Jacob that he couldn’t recall, and even more from before then that escaped his memory. Did what Father Nathaniel have to say somehow relate to that? The phrase “nearly a decade” played over in his head. Why did he wait until now to confess? What were these consequences he had discovered?

Mako breathed through his nose, letting his eyes shut in thought. There were too many pieces to this puzzle. Jamison being one of them. Surely he would know nothing of what Nathaniel had spoke of; he was just a dumb kid at heart. Mako pictured those black eyes and that hellish maw which morphed an otherwise human face into one of a monster’s. It smiled, it cried, it got angry, it could be overcome with… desire.

He lost track of time. Images of last night distracted him from his worries. The way Jamison responded to his touch, his little pleas and hints of gratitude. The shape of his back as they lay down afterward, the warmth of the sheets and his bed partner, the odd sense of security he felt, the heaviness of his eyes as he lost the ability to prevent sleep from taking him, pulling him under at last...

 

“Oi! Open up!”

Mako nearly jumped at the sudden voice in his ear. He had no way of telling when Jamison had gotten there, or how long he’d been crouching on the floor next to the booth. Mako had to scratch the exhaustion away from the corners of his eyes and sit himself back up in his seat. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Shit. He hoped no one had come by while he was sleeping.

“Mako, let me in!” Jamison was whispering. Why? Who would hear? His hand fiddled with the latch outside, and Mako unlocked it for him. Jamison practically pounced at him, his face twisted with what looked like fear.

“What-” Mako didn't have the chance to ask before a pair of clammy hands smacked over his mouth, door clicking shut in front of him.

“Sh-sh-sh!!!” Jamison’s heart was pounding against Mako’s chest. His breath was fast and panicked, small beads of sweat falling down his face. What the hell had spooked him so bad?

They sat like that for several minutes in complete silence. Not a peep came from the rest of the chapel or corridor. Mako finally took Jamison's thin wrists in his hand and lowered them from his lips.

“Jamison, what did you do?” Mako let his volume stay low. His words rumbled through Jamison’s bones, and the smaller man visibly shivered.

“Nothin’, I swear on me grave!” His breath caught in his throat and his voice cracked noticeably. He had been hiding from something, that much was obvious.

“Did someone see you?”

“No! I just- thought I recognized someone.”

“Who?”

“Forget it. ‘twas nothing. Imagination, that’s it.”

“Jamison. Who?” Had he been hallucinating? That couldn't be good.

Jamison let out an exasperated growl. However, it lost its meaning when the end of it became punctuated with a suppressed whimper.

“Couldn't see ‘em. Felt ‘em. Fuck, it's cold. I can't shake it.” His shivers came back, and he wrapped himself around Mako as if he were a lifeline in the middle of an icy sea.

“Mmh, can't feel it when I’m with you. Like it all just goes away.” Jamison curled his legs and buried himself as far as he could into the heat of Mako’s chest. “Can't let ‘em find me.”

His tremors only got worse as broken sobs escaped his throat. What was he supposed to do here? He was never good with words; actions had always been his strong point. Should he…

Mako lifted one of his wide palms. It hovered with an uncertainty inches away from the hem of Jamison’s hoodie. Carefully he lowered it, letting his hand travel underneath his shirt to cradle the small of his back. He accidentally brushed against the tips of Jamison’s folded wings. He quickly moved to fix it, bringing his hand up further to rest at the nape of Jamison’s neck.

In his haste, he hadn't noticed that the body in his lap had stopped shaking. That brief gesture of rubbing the skin of his back had made him melt under Mako’s fingertips. When he didn't continue, the trembles slowly made their way back.

Mako sighed. Jamison was just as in over his head as he was. He let his hand fall back down, tracing the thick knobs of Jamison’s spine, then come back up. He rubbed in circles, soothing the tremors away. Jamison’s tears stopped and he grew heavy, practically purring at the affectionate touch.

Just as Mako began to feel this had gone on long enough, Jamison raised his head. It left a damp spot on his chest, no doubt where he’d find a puddle of drool and snot later. The wetness of Jamison’s face made his nose and lips shine. Red marks littered the edges of his mouth where he had been chewing through the sobs. Mako was staring, and Jamison knew it.

Jamison dove forward, clashing their teeth together. He clutched the sides of Mako’s face like his life depended on it. Mako did not hesitate to return it, lacing the fingers of his other hand through that wild blond hair and pulling him close. Jamison tasted salty from the trails of tears and mucus plastered to his lips and chin. Instead of backing away, Mako powered through it. The taste was soon replaced by the sweetness of saliva and each other’s tongues.

Mako felt overwhelmed by the amount of passion behind Jamison’s hunger. His legs had gone from that previous curled position to being spread wide around Mako’s stomach. He held on with his whole body, like he was afraid he’d wake up from a sweet dream and lose something precious.

Mako had to stop. His chest was on fire, his head light and fuzzy. He yanked back, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Jamison fought to bring them together again, but took the moment to steady his own breathing. The stuffiness of the confessional booth had only made the heat between them hotter.

He wheezed, his breath not catching. Jamison watched with wide eyes as he tried to figure out the problem. Mako needed his inhaler. Damn, the last time he had to use it during a steamy encounter was when he was young, when his emotions had fueled the intensity of his actions. He had managed it the times since then, rare as they were.

Mako tried to get to his bag under the seat, but Jamison was two steps ahead. In a heartbeat he had hopped down to retrieve the satchel, fishing out the inhaler from inside. He shoved it towards Mako’s lips and he took it from him, breathing in deep and holding it. His eyes were closed but he could feel Jamison watching, feel his fingers push and prod into his thigh and stomach as if to make sure Mako was okay.

“Shit, mate. You nearly died!”

“No, I didn’t. Just asthma.” Mako exhaled, giving the inhaler back to Jamison to put away. His chest was no longer tight, but his breath remained labored. He had gotten too excited. Why? Not even with his old mates did he let himself get to that point.

“Well- Don’t do that!” Jamison scowled, stretching up from his spot on the ground to lay across Mako’s gut. “Scared the hell outta me.”

Mako had to laugh, feeling the oxygen return to his blood. Concern was a good look on Jamison. Well, that and him being on his knees in front of him… situated between his legs, stomach pressed up against Mako’s half hard dick.

“Christ…” Mako whispered. His eyes met Jamison’s, and the look on his face told him everything. He must have felt it, or noticed the deeper tint of red Mako’s cheeks were surely turning. His mouth was curled into a knowing smirk, eyes half lidded and clouded with lust. Shit. Were they really going to do this here?

“You know… I still owe ya a favor.” Jamison offered in a low growl, running his tongue across his teeth. He leaned back on his knees and let his palm rub at Mako’s inner thigh, his legs spreading to invite him. Oh, yes. There were really going to do this here.

“Not another word.” Mako reached forward to undo the button and zipper of his slacks. He pulled his dick free and gave it a few strokes. He could tell Jamison was holding back enthusiastic giggles as he waited. He needed to be told what to do, it seemed.

“Mouth,” Mako commanded. Jamison’s eyes switched between his face to his crotch a few times.

“You want me to-?”

“Yes. Before I change my mind.” Mako wasn’t planning on changing his mind. If he had already gotten this far on holy ground, then he wasn’t going to stop until he was done. He had to ignore every impulse in his body to laugh at the whole idea. It was a cliche, a joke. But he’d be lying if he claimed it wasn’t a thrill.

Jamison’s face lit up like the bugger had been looking forward to this. Quickly he bent down and brought his mouth to the soft flesh at the base of Mako’s cock. He kissed and tongued there, stopping only for a moment to breathe it all in. His eyes fluttered and he groaned weakly at Mako’s scent. That was… strange.

He moved on to the dick itself, grabbing it with careful fingers and licking thoroughly along the side. He was drooling, whether or not on purpose Mako couldn’t tell. His tongue was smooth and shiny, that metal stud tracing along each vein. He watched every flick of it, every instance his lips closed for a kiss, and every flash of his teeth as he opened his mouth just wide enough for him to see. It served as a reminder of the threat that resided mere millimeters away from his sensitive skin.

He let out a strained breath. It felt good, but he needed more. Jamison’s inexperience showed, and he wondered if he’d ever given head before. Mako lent Jamison a guiding hand and led him to the front of his dick. They couldn’t afford to spend too much time in this type of vulnerable situation. It was church, after all. Anyone could walk in on them. On him.

“Open,” he instructed, and Jamison complied. He pulled him forward and he took the hint, wrapping his thin lips around the pink head. “Watch the teeth.” He started Jamison off on a rhythm, and soon he was bobbing his head on his own.

Of course Jamison didn't stick to it long. He found his own pace, taking in more of Mako each time. It was wonderful: how wet and warm the inside of his mouth was. Mako let his head fall back only for a short moment, as a wretch came from the back of Jamison’s throat. He seemed to hit his limit on just how far he could go, but that didn't stop him from trying again.

The sound of gagging was unsettling, and Mako found his own unease creep its way into his stomach. He slipped his hand to Jamison’s horn and pulled him up and off him.

“Wait, wait! Lemme ‘ave another go, I can do it-”

“No.” Mako held strong. Jamison looked disappointed, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumping. His eagerness to please was flattering but he didn't need to be hurting himself. It made the marks of Mako’s wrist itch. He could… give him some pointers.

“It's okay. Relax,” he began, pulling Jamison upwards by the horn. He obediently scrambled to his feet, and Mako’s gaze was met with Jamison’s erection straining against the front of his jeans, as well as the dark spot from all the fluids that had been spilling. He couldn’t say he was surprised it was already this hard. Jamison had it bad, whatever “it” was.

Mako let out a puff of air and went to unfasten the zipper. Jamison was holding back giggles again. Mako made note of just how fast his mood could flip. His grasp easily found Jamison’s dick --he could never get him to wear the underwear he had bought him. He just didn’t see the point-- but Mako was starting to have second thoughts. The smell had smacked him in the face, and the slime looked… unappetizing to say the least, even when the majority of it had wiped off on Jamison’s pants.

He heard the needy whines from above him, the excitement in that scratchy voice. One glance showed him smiling eyes and a row of teeth biting into the graying flesh of his lips. The things Jamison made him want to do… He barely had to try anymore. He pumped slowly and bent forward, bringing his mouth to the head of Jamison’s dick.

“Have your tongue like this.” He stuck his tongue out as an example, keeping it low in his mouth and cupping it into a ‘u’ shape.

Jamison squinted at him, his lips pursing as he tried to understand. He copied Mako and let his tongue fall. God. It was a crime how long that dark muscle was. It was coated in drool, it dripping all the way down to the split tip. Mako felt his own dick jerk; he needed that mouth back around him.

“Keep your lips and throat loose. Breathe through your nose.” He took one more second to mentally ready himself, then sucked it into his mouth. Jamison cried out, as if he had been holding his breath. His knees buckled but Mako used his spare hand to hold him up by the ass. It fit so naturally in his palm, and Mako used this new position to pull him closer as he worked.

The taste was strong but… nothing at all like the smell. It was bitter and felt like oil going down his throat. It wasn’t unpleasant. He moved slowly so Jamison could get used to the feeling, then quickened his pace. He dove deeper, nearly to the base, when he had the urge to cough. He kept his hand there after that, his nose just barely able to touch his knuckles. He was out of practice, but that didn’t matter to Jamison. His clawed fingers were busy holding onto Mako’s head and ponytail, pulling slightly in time with an array of shouts and moans.

Mako felt him start to move his hips with his rhythm. It was out of sync, but he was trying. After the fourth or fifth ill-timed thrust, Mako dropped his hands and kept his head still. He’d let Jamison choose the pace if he wanted to so badly. He heard him snarl at the loss of friction, but without that pair of hands to hold him back, he fucked into Mako’s mouth with little restraint. He instantly regretted it.

Jamison pounded into him; he could feel him strike the back of his throat. The beginnings of tears welled in his eyes and he squinted them shut to keep them from falling. He relaxed his muscles and focused on his breathing, remembering all the old tricks he had. He did not dare risk swallowing the excess of fluid now pouring into him, and it spilled from the corners of his mouth like drool.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Jamison kept repeating, his voice lowering in volume but raising in pitch. That was the signal, telling Mako he was close. Mako had expected it wouldn’t take him long. He grabbed the outsides of his thighs and regained control, pushing him back just in time. With only a few pumps of his fingers, Jamison came onto his ready tongue and face with a yell. Mako let go and Jamison’s legs buckled. He stumbled back into the door, the small latch thankfully being enough to keep him from crashing through.

He slid to the floor with heavy breath, chest heaving and mouth agape. Mako ignored his own throbbing groin and used this moment to reach below his seat, pulling a spare napkin from his satchel to wipe his face and spit into. He was in the middle of cleaning up the few drops of slick that had collected on the ground when Jamison got a hold of himself.

“Fuck!”

A poet.

“Get the idea?” Mako stuffed the dirty napkins into his pocket.

“Why’d ya have to go and make it look so easy?” Jamison complained, crawling back to his knees and snaking back between Mako’s legs. He seemed displeased to see his erection had waned somewhat, so Mako took it into his hand to get it hard again.

“Y’don’t have to-”

“ _Not another word_ ,” Jamison mimicked, snickering to himself. He went straight back to where he left off, shooing Mako’s hand away and wrapping his lips around his dick. Mako almost forgot to be offended at Jamison’s poor attempt of an impression as he bobbed his head just like Mako had showed him, his tongue extending from his mouth and hugging the underside of Mako’s cock.

He groaned. Jamison was a fast learner. He was surprised he was even paying attention during that whole thing. But, like the time before, Jamison hit that point where his throat spasmed and choked. He pulled back a bit but kept going, letting more of that tongue slither out. With nowhere else to go, it coiled around his dick.

Mako’s hand clapped over his mouth to mute the “ _Oh_ ,” that had escaped him. That was uncharacteristic of him. That tongue… it made his body react so strongly. Jamison had noticed, letting out a moan of his own. He moved faster and sucked harder with a newfound ambition. His cheeks hollowed, and Mako’s toes curled in his boots.

“Close,” he warned. The wetness surrounding him pulled back and Jamison’s hand took its place, just as Mako had done. He looked down at him, and...

He had seen this before. This long, angular face with messy freckles and eyes of fire. His mouth opened wide, waiting for him to come. It was that image Jamison had put in his head two weeks ago. Only instead of human, it was demon. It was his own face; he had wanted this from the very beginning. How did it take him so long to notice?

If Jamison wanted it, Mako was going to make sure he got it. All of it. Mako’s brows lowered and he smirked, hooking his hand behind Jamison’s head and shoving him back on his dick. He came down his throat and Jamison took it like a champ, nose dripping and eyes wet from the sudden intrusion. Spunk spilled from his lips and he sputtered to keep himself from letting any go down the wrong pipe

Mako felt a pang of guilt and released him. He expected Jamison to spit it all up, but he didn’t. What was in his mouth, he swallowed. And what was on his face and fingers, he licked up.

“Magnificent fucking pig,” Jamison called him, bringing his flesh hand down to his still leaking erection. He dug his forehead into Mako’s thigh, horns barely allowing it, and pumped furiously.

“I c’n take more than tha’.” His breath was quick and his voice torn, no doubt it would be sore later.

“Good boy,” Mako said, scratching his fingers through Jamison’s hair as he pressed into his lap.

“Nnngh, fuck. Mako,” he whined as he came again. Mako hoped he had enough napkins.

 

“How long?” Mako asked once they got themselves on the road. He gladly took the opportunity Father Luke had given him to head home early.

“Till what?” Jamison curled up in the passenger seat, holding his toes with his hands to warm them from the snow. It was falling down pretty hard, and was only going to get worse.

“Since you’ve… wanted this? Me?”

Jamison snickered. “You seen yourself, mate? Kinda hard not to.” He leaned across the armrest and clacked his teeth together. Mako never wanted to see him wiggle his eyebrows like that again.

“Jamison,” he huffed, turning onto their street.

“Heh.” Jamison resigned back to his spot and looked out the window at the rows of apartments. “Since ya took me ‘ome. Or… maybe before that. I dunno.”

“You know this won’t work.”

Jamison spun and looked at him, brows furrowed. “What won’t?”

“It’s just sex. It can’t be anything else.”

“I mean, ‘course I know that. Yeah.” He withdrew and scratched at his shoulder. Anxious.

Mako sighed. He still planned on breaking this curse; he knew demons had no place on earth, but maybe there was a way to do it without banishing Jamison to Hell. Jamison was just… different. Somehow. He couldn’t understand it.

They were both quiet when they pulled into his parking spot. They sat there for a bit, Jamison clearly not wanting to be thrown out into the cold again.

“Ever had hot chocolate?” Mako offered, turning the engine off.

“Sure! Just leave a bit in your pocket and it’ll get nice ‘n soft and-”

Mako chuckled. “No, it’s a drink. Come inside and we’ll have some. Warm you up.”

Jamison smiled brightly, and Mako had to turn away.

They were mindful of the ice as they climbed the steps. Jamison was back to his excitable self, following Mako closely behind. He was nearly at the second floor, his head peaking just enough over the edge to see his door. It was open.

His arm stopped Jamison from going further, and he hushed him before he could question it. They watched as a shadow moved back and forth inside, then approached the hall. Whoever it was wore a hood hiding their features. They stopped in their tracks when they realized Mako and Jamison were standing in the stairway.

Without a word, they turned the other way and ran, hoping to get to the other set of stairs.

“Don’t let him!” Mako put his arm down, and Jamison went ahead with a rush of cold air. His claws dug into each door frame he passed, propelling himself further onward. His wings had escaped from under his jacket, helping him control where the wind pushed him. Like a beast, he pounced.

The figure jumped for the railing, but their fingers were just out of reach. Jamison grabbed hold and pulled them down, dragging them back across the concrete. Mako was nearly on the both of them when the intruder elbowed Jamison in the nose, his grip faltering enough for them to yank free. They could only go a few feet before Jamison shook it off. Black blood fell from his nostrils, but with a snarl he managed to catch their ankle.

They tried to scream, but Jamison was quick to climb back up. His prosthetic seized their face and muffled their voice. With his other hand, he pulled the hood down. It was a familiar face. Conor. He turned and tried to push Jamison off of him, but made the mistake of letting his arm get too close to Jamison’s mouth. He bit into him, his teeth piercing through the sleeve of his coat. It was immediately soaked in drool and blood. Conor’s face contorted under the pain, and all he could do was swing his closed fist at the side of Jamison’s face.

He didn’t let go until Mako loomed over the both of them. He pulled them apart with strong hands, Jamison gently by the shirt and Conor firmly by the throat. The impact made him cough up all the spit in his mouth, but Mako did not lessen his grip. He held him up off the ground and pushed him into the apartment, door slamming behind the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello everyone! This is my very first published fic ever in my entire life. I've always loved writing and I'm finally doing something about it. Please keep in mind that while this fic features catholic themes, I'm an athiest. I'm doing my best to represent how the Church is structured and if I make any mistakes please let me know. There is some criticism of the Church and organized religion laced in here for story and world-building purposes, so if you're bothered by that kind of stuff please be aware.-
> 
> So sorry I keep making y'all wait, hopefully this chapter will make up for it. This one had been planned since the beginning, and I'm super excited to finally show it to y'all. Please remember to comment! Missed you guys c':


	14. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing around as far as the eye could see. Mako clenched his jaw and swallowed his nerves. Something was here with him, and he needed to find it. He kept moving, kept looking, even as the cold broke through his skin and seeped into his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boy Eric for beta-reading this!  
> My twitter: @Capt_Chameleon  
> My art tumblr: captain-chameleon  
> My nsfw/art tumblr: whalingshark

Rays of the sun beat down on him, the unrelenting light almost blinding. It buried its way into his skin as hot air filled his lungs, burning his airways and making his throat sore. The orange hills in the distance swayed like the waves of the sea and the ground underneath him radiated with heat. A blessing came in the form of a soft breeze that chilled the sweat dripping down his back, and Mako let himself breathe in his surroundings.

The highway stretched on for miles before him. He had pulled off the road to take a short break, and in his hand was a canteen full of water. The metal of the container had long warmed it, but the fluid still did its job in calming his throbbing headache. Mako felt he should get going and find some place to stay out of the heat until evening. He looked behind him at his Hog as it rested, the engine settling and leather no doubt searing to the touch. Sand and dust covered most of it, and he knew he’d need to give it a nice wash next time he had the chance.

He dropped the cigarette butt he had unknowingly been holding and dug the heel of his boot into the dirt. Turning around, he expertly swung his leg over the Hog and balanced his weight on the seat. He switched the engine on and reached for his mask. Odd, it wasn’t where he left it. Usually it hung on the handlebars, but it was missing. Did it fall? Mako leaned forward and looked at his feet, unable to find it. A firm hand found its way on his shoulder and he spun around.

“Looking for this?” He was met with the face of a boar. Not a real one, but one made of dark leather. It was a mask appropriate for the one named Roadhog. Someone Mako knew to be a friend held it out to him, so he took it.

Ah, that’s right. His mates were with him. He found it funny he forgot; the loneliness of the desert must have gotten to him. They all sat on their bikes, some in pairs and some crammed into sidecars. Mako smiled and looked down at the mask in his grasp. Its black lenses seemed to be watching him, peering into him. He would have gotten lost in them if it weren’t for the roar of engines coming to life around him.

“Ready to go?” Another one of them asked.

“Yeah.” Mako strapped his mask securely in place and rolled his neck and shoulders. They took off, clouds of dust erupting behind them.

The wind of the road and cheers from his party were the only things he could hear. Mako leaned back to drown in it all, enjoying the feeling.

 

When he opened his eyes, the sun was replaced with countless stars littering the sky. The air was cool, and the only thing illuminating the night besides the moon was the poorly constructed campfire piled up in front of him. It needed more firewood, so Mako stretched out his tired limbs and sat himself up.

 

“Where are ya off to?” A sleepy voice stirred awake next to him. He was in bed back at home. Had he been dreaming before? Nevermind. He leaned down and kissed the forehead of his bed partner.

“Don’t worry, Sparks. I’ll be right back,” he answered, pulling the sheets off of himself. His feet met the cool hardwood floors and he took a few steps toward the door. Where was he going? He searched his mind, trying to find the reason why he got up. Downstairs, some of his men were laughing and conversing with one another. He could go pop in, grab a drink.

He carefully shut the door behind him and went down the hall with hushed steps. He found the stairs and climbed down them, surprised to see the main floor was dark and lifeless. He swore there were people down here; he could still hear them speak. Maybe they were outside?

He made his way to the back door and lifted the curtain. The voices stopped. The porch and pool were empty, and it was snowing. Mako scratched the back of his neck and let the curtain fall. Something unsettling tugged at his chest. He moved towards the kitchen and took a plastic water bottle from the fridge, deciding not to waste any time getting back to bed.

“Roadhog.”

His body froze at the name, and every instinct he had was telling him not to turn around. He couldn’t stop himself.

Sparks stood in the archway, clutching his bloodied chest with unsteady hands. His curly red hair was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with fear.

“Hog!” He yelled this time, falling to his knees. He was angry, his cheeks wet with tears. Mako wanted to rush to him, but his legs would not move. It was as if he were watching through someone else other than himself; he had no control.

“How could you let this happen?” Sparks growled, blue eyes turning white. Smoke. The stench filled Mako’s nose as it clouded the edges of his vision. He could feel the warm licks of fire at his feet. It slithered like a serpent towards the other man, wrapping around him.

Sparks did not scream as his body ignited with flames. Mako willed his legs forward, but every step felt like he was only getting further away. Something crashed next to him. Thud, thud, thud. Bodies. Each one burned wildly, fire spreading to the ground and walls around them. Mako had to get outside. He ran, but the wooden planks of the floor broke away, falling into nothingness. Mako tried to jump to the nearest one, but more disappeared. He was trapped, nothing around him but flames over a black abyss.

“It’s your fault.”

Mako swallowed hard. Sparks levitated in front of him, fire burning even hotter. He held his hand out, pointing an accusing finger.

“It’s your fault!” He repeated, but the voice was different. He laughed, high pitched and scratchy. The black smoke on the ceiling circled around him, flames swirling and growing larger. The laughing didn’t stop; it only distorted as an incredible silhouette of black fire hunched over him.

Rows of teeth larger than his own forearm twisted into a sick grin. Eyes of fire bore into his soul. It spoke, and with its breath came a flurry of ash.

“It’s always your fault!” It snarled, surging forward. Mako took a step back and lost his footing. He couldn’t catch himself. He fell. His mouth opened to scream but no sound escaped it.

 

“Snap out of it!”

Mako woke with a shout, hand wrapping around the neck of whatever sorry bastard was leaning over him. Conor choked and sputtered, grabbing onto Mako’s wrist desperately. He tried to speak, eyes glossy and face turning red. Oh, right. Mako was strangling him. He let the man breathe but quickly took hold of his shirt, bringing his face down to his level.

“You must be some kind of stupid to come back here,” Mako threatened through clenched teeth.

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Conor scrambled to keep himself from dropping further. “But now’s not the time!”

Mako tightened his grip. “What do you-”

“I fucked up, alright!? You weren’t supposed to be home this soon. I’ll explain everything later, we have to-”

A stone the size of a car slammed into the pavement beside them, shaking the ground he rested on. Mako stared at it. Where did that come from? Also…

“Where are we?” Mako asked, sitting up but not letting go. They were in the middle of a street. Cracks and fissures broke up the road, and the buildings nearby were either dilapidated or all out destroyed.

“Dead, if we stay here.” Conor struggled, finding his footing and trying to pull away. Mako released him and he fell back on his ass.

He’d laugh if he wasn’t properly pissed off. He pulled himself to his feet and patted away the crumbled asphalt that had lodged itself into his palms and clung to his clothes. Conor joined him, but at a safe distance. The wind picked up.

“Follow me.” Conor hurried to one of the structures along the street, the only one with a door still intact.

Mako didn’t know what to think. His head hurt trying to keep up with everything. He started walking after Conor, but not without taking another look around him. Black clouds hung low in the sky, yellow lightning worming through them. However, the ground below was still as bright as if the sun were out.

Conor urged him to hurry, and they found themselves in an old pottery store. Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls as Conor began looking through the various cabinets and drawers.

“We have time now. Talk,” Mako said, peeking through one of the window shutters. The clouds were rotating.

“There really isn’t time, but… fine.” Conor moved on to the back of the store, raising his voice so Mako could hear. “I was setting a trap. A hex that locks you in your subconscious.”

“You cursed us?” Mako closed the shutters. Being near windows with a twister forming outside was not a good idea. He found Conor struggling with a stuck door among rows of rusted kilns.

“Just a little one, yeah. It would’ve taken effect as soon as you walked into your apartment.”

“And you got thrown in too, then?” Mako smirked, crossing his arms. He got a taste of his own medicine.

“Ugh, yeah.” Conor pushed and yanked and shoved but the door wouldn’t give. Mako got tired of watching him and moved him out of the way.

“So why wake me up?” Mako took hold of the knob and squeezed it, pulling hard until the whole mechanism broke free of the wall. The door easily opened after that, and Conor walked through.

“Need your help.”

Obviously. “With what?” Mako asked, following him inside.

 

“You can probably tell, the plan backfired,” Conor scoffed. They were at the church. At work. Mako looked behind him and saw the confessional rather than the pottery store. A thousand questions flooded his mind until he remembered they were dreaming. He hoped this headache would be gone when they woke up. Conor was already halfway down the hall before Mako started after him.

“You can’t escape on your own?”

That earned him a sigh in response. “If this was under normal circumstances, I could. But you two are… special. Not many people share dreams, even less with a demon.”

They reached the private offices and Conor started opening doors again, looking for something.

“Why the rush? You don’t have friends on the outside who could get you out?” Mako was in no hurry to assist someone who had tried to get him killed. A nap never hurt anyone.

“Listen, priest.” Conor stopped in his tracks, finally turning to face him. “Your little pet may have a leash in the physical world, but not in here. And I’m not sure about you, but I don’t wanna be stuck in here with a spirit that unstable. I’m not in the mood to die today.”

Die? What was he talking about? They were just sleeping, none of this was real.

“If we want out, all three of us have to work together. Which means we have to find him, wake him up like I did for you. The door to his subconscious is somewhere here in yours, it’s just a matter of finding it.”

He stormed away and swung open the next door hard enough to leave an imprint in the wall.

“Now are you gonna lend a hand or not?” He snapped, going inside and rummaging through file cabinets.

Mako huffed. Fine. The sooner he could kick Conor out of his head, the better. He walked a little further down the hall to his office. His thoughts shifted to Jamison. He’d been in his dreams before, had seen what he’d seen. Was that what they were looking for?

His door was locked. Mako dug into his pocket for his keys, feeling something crumble under his fingers. It was the note Father Nathaniel had left him. He brushed his thumb over it, considering what was inside. Conor was still busy in the other room, so he supposed it was safe to take it out. He laced a knuckle under the lip of the envelope and tore it open, pulling a piece of paper from within.

Mako couldn’t read this. He recognized the words were english, but nothing made sense to him. The letters moved and warped, and Mako felt himself grow queasy. He harshly stuffed it back in his pocket and grabbed his keys, paying no mind to the fresh layer of sweat forming on his skin.

 

This wasn’t his office. Soft light spilled in from small windows lining the walls near the ceiling. Everything was white, from the stone walls and tiled floors to the rows of lockers and metal benches accompanying them. Mako was having trouble placing himself until he heard heavy doors open and shut behind him. Figures pushed their way passed him. Their faces were fuzzy, but he recognized them as his fellow seminarians.

Something clicked in Mako’s mind and he knew where he was. These were the showers at the campus gym. Mako would see his classmates come in and out of this place while he worked out in the weight room, but he never went inside. He felt out of place, much older than the rest of the men and much larger. There was also the issue of the huge tattoo covering his stomach. Mako’s hand went to it on reflex, and he realized the layers of clothing previously covering him were now absent.

“Having one of _those_ dreams, huh?” Conor snickered behind him. “Nice nipple piercings.”

Mako scolded himself for being so gullible. He looked down at the rings Conor had pointed out and sighed. He missed them.

A rush of air flew by, and like a candle that had just been blown out, the white light from before was replaced by a breathing darkness. Mako watched it push and pull outside of the windows, the thin panes of glass being the only thing keeping it at bay. Conor wore an expression of unease, skipping the chit chat and getting back to work.

They went to the end of the showers to the restroom stalls, pulling open the empty ones and going through the many storage cabinets.

“Hey, this one’s locked.” Conor waved towards the last stall. Mako checked under the door and no one was inside. Looked suspicious enough. He stepped back and charged forward, breaking through.

 

Mako immediately knew where he was this time. The diner was dark, and chairs had been flipped onto tables so the floors could be swept. The bar was the only spot with its lights still on, and a man was there, wiping off the counter.

“Hotshot! You’re late, we’ve already closed for the night.” The bartender smiled, stopping what he was doing. “I still have time to mix a few drinks. Wanna join me?” He leaned over the countertop, his v-neck showing off a little too much collarbone.

Mako hadn’t had this dream for some time, but he knew exactly what would happen if he were to say yes. Conor stood right beside him, giving him a knowing smirk. That was enough of that.

“No, sorry.” He took Conor by the back of his neck and hurried to the exit, ignoring the sounds of disappointment behind him.

 

His cheeks were burning by the time they got outside, door slamming in their wake. Conor yanked himself away.

“You’re not like many of the priests I’ve run into, my friend.” Conor laughed, already moving to find the next door.

“Don’t get buddy-buddy with me. I’m making you talk when we wake up.”

“Have we not already been talking?”

Mako swallowed his retort and rolled his eyes.

“Ah, shit. We’ve got a problem.”

Conor was right. They were in the middle of a valley, nothing around but trees and snow. They’d find no doors here. It was a dry sort of freezing out, and Mako was thankful he had his clothes back on.

“C’mon, maybe we’ll find a cabin or something.”

Mako followed, snow and twigs crunching underneath his lumbering steps. They walked between the two mountains, trailing the remnants of a rivershore. The small patches of ice creaked and groaned next to them. Mako couldn’t help but stare, curious at the sound.

A low rumbling echoed in the valley, the source seemingly miles away. Snow fell in clumps from the tree branches it had previously been resting on. Mako noticed Conor curse softly under his breath and pick up his pace. The rumbling came again, but this time closer. Vibrations coursed through the mountains. A peculiar noise resonated from the depths of the river.

Mako knew that was what ice cracking was supposed to sound like. He’d seen videos, but he’d never heard it in person. It was ghostly, almost alien. The chirping was erratic and rang through the forest; it felt alive.

“I told you we didn’t have time!” Conor broke into a sprint. Mako ran after him, feeling a sense of urgency but not really knowing why. He looked back to the end of the valley, and then he understood.

Hellfire. Lots of it. It descended from the sky in the form of a tornado, large enough to encompass the full width of the valley. It ate the ground it touched; trees and boulders vanished within the outer rings in mere seconds. Lightning of gold coiled around it, striking the mountainside and loosening the ice caps. The avalanches that followed only fed it more.

They weren’t going to escape this. There was no way. It moved fast, and Mako could feel the wind picking up around him and earth heaving underneath him.

“There!” Conor pointed. A cave sat at the base of the mountain. The mouth was small but it looked deep, and Mako prayed it would be enough to shelter them.

The acoustics of the valley growled as if it were a voice. There was a sound, like rain. White noise? Conor got to the cave but Mako was still some ways behind. He looked back once more, and in the flashes of lightning he swore he saw a distinct mass. Deep within the tornado, it stood over the earth. It was looking at him.

Mako made it inside with no time to spare. Hellfire rushed by the opening with the force of an explosion, but luckily none of it entered. He leaned on a few damp stalagmites to steady himself.

“Let’s go, surely there’s something in here.” Conor fled deeper into the cave. Mako started after him, but something was telling him not to. The white noise in his head hadn’t left him. He stopped and watched the black mouth of the cave. Hellfire had never hurt him, it had always been Jamison at its reigns.

“What are you doing!?” Conor asked when he noticed Mako heading back towards the entrance.

“Standing ground.” Mako walked forward. Conor yelled behind him that he was an idiot, that he was crazy. As soon as he reached the wall of flame, all of that ceased. It was completely silent, even the incessant static was gone. Mako took one last breath and stepped through.

 

Wind pushed by him, and he couldn’t see a thing. Still, he persevered. Step by step he walked forward, the force of the wind becoming stronger and stronger. Until it stopped. He was outside again, in the snowy grass. There was no cave behind him, and no mountains above. It was an open field, and snow fell softly from a cloudless sky.

There was nothing around as far as the eye could see. Mako clenched his jaw and swallowed his nerves. Something was here with him, and he needed to find it. He kept moving, kept looking, even as the cold broke through his skin and seeped into his bones. He held his jacket tight, balling his fists and hiding them inside. The snow fell heavier, and Mako’s teeth clattered together. He couldn’t stop himself from shivering.

It went on and on. Mako felt the moisture on his face start to freeze. He had never experienced temperatures this low, and he was beginning to think he had made the wrong decision. His legs could barely move, and his knees wobbled under his weight. One more step and he stumbled, unable to catch himself before falling into the snow below him.

“Help me… please.”

Mako hadn’t said that. Gathering what remained of his strength, he brought himself up to his elbows and searched for the source of that voice. Fog blocked his vision.

“I don’t want to die.” That was right next to him. It sounded familiar. It sounded like…

A cacophony of voices spoke above him. They were harsh and gritting in his ears. Mako’s whole being seemed to shake under it, and he clutched the sides of his face to keep his skull from splitting. It was as if each voice spoke a separate language, all coming together to form words Mako had never heard before. But even in light of that, he somehow understood.

“You’ll be okay,” they said.

Mako heard the first voice let out a sob, seemingly thankful towards whatever monstrosity loomed over them.

“Come to me, and I’ll make it so.”

A trembling hand reached from the ice beside him. It was blue from the cold, covered in dirt and blood. A second hand came down to meet it. It was that of a woman’s, gentle and inviting.

“No!” Mako blurted out. Something deep within him told him this thing was not to be trusted, that its motivations were laced with sweet lies and hidden truths. Their hands retreated and the creature released a hideous screech loud enough to shake the earth beneath it. Mako climbed to his knees and crawled towards the body next to him.

His suspicions were right; Mako was met with a familiar pile of bones and flesh. Jamison looked at him with human eyes, half lidded and unfocused. He was losing life fast, his exposed skin covered in bruises and lacerations.

His brows furrowed as he scanned over Mako’s face, like he was searching for a lost memory.  His hand outstretched once more and Mako took it in his.

 

It was warm. Fields of gold surrounded them, the soft hay swaying slowly in the wind. It tickled Mako’s face as he lay there, gazing up at the blue sky above him.

“So this is all a dream?” Jamison sat closeby, picking at a few weeds hiding in the dirt. The color of his skin had returned, and all injuries were gone. He seemed healthier and younger, if only by a few years.

Mako sat himself up. He had only ever known Jamison as a demon, a sickly hellish thing. Here, he was human. His sandy hair mirrored the color of the hay surrounding them, and his eyes were a vivid amber he had never seen before.

“Sorry you… had to see that.” He tittered, hand wiping the pieces of grass from his patchy trousers.

“Wasn’t the first time.”

Jamison looked at him, expecting some kind of explanation.

“Seeing your dreams, I mean. I live your nightmares the same as you do.”

“And you never thought to tell me?” His voice cracked as he processed that statement. “All this time, you knew what had been plaguing me and said nothing?”

Mako bit his lip, choosing his words carefully. “I thought it would just stress you out.”

“I’m already thoroughly stressed out, mate.”

“Sorry…” Mako didn’t know what else he could say.

Jamison let out an annoyed breath and wrapped his arms around his knee. “Guess I shoulda known. Only makes sense that our physicalities ain’t the only things linked. Your fancy wrist bands flare up if I’m hurting, and I can feel your goddamn orgasms.”

“I can feel yours, too.”

“Of course you can!” He laughed, shaking his head. “This is more than one kind of fucked up if ya ask me.”

“Almost as fucked up as a demon possessing a priest?” Mako felt the corners of his mouth curl for just a moment.

“Aw, c’mon! I only wanted outta that crypt, and you made it so easy-”

“It’s okay.”

“You can’t blame me for... what?” Jamison stuttered.

“I was teasing. It’s okay.”

Jamison scrunched his face with his usual exaggeration to convey his skepticism. It was odd seeing that expression on a human; it only confirmed further that this was indeed the same Jamison Mako knew as a being of Hell. It felt weird to compare the two.

“You’re not mad at me anymore?”

That caught Mako off guard. He wanted to be mad; he probably should’ve been. And who knew, when he woke up he could still be. Jamison had manipulated him, had disregarded basic privacy and human decency, had forced his way into his life, and thwarted any hope Mako had of quietly following in the Lord’s footsteps for the rest of his days. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that might have been exactly what he needed. He hadn’t felt more like himself since…

“Mako?” Jamison had scooted closer to him. He must have spaced out for a moment, the images from his dreams still fresh on his mind. He scratched at the scar on his face and cleared his throat.

“I mean… I probably would’ve done the same thing if I were you. So I get it.”

Jamison giggled. “You’re a piece of work, mate.” He leaned back into the grass and gazed at the fluffy, white clouds hanging overhead. “But I’m stuck with ya.” He closed his eyes and Mako smiled.

“We’ll find a way to break it,” Mako assured him.

Jamison breathed in deeply. “Guess it’s for the best, huh?”

Mako rubbed the pads of his thumbs together. It had to be for the best.

 

“Jamie!” Someone called. Mako looked around, but saw no one. Jamison tensed at the voice, fingers digging into his shoulder. He cursed under his breath and withdrew on himself, and the world around them began to fade. He trembled like he was in pain, and Mako didn’t know what to do. He reached for him as to help him, but his hand was swatted away by a familiar set of claws.

“N-no… M’fine,” Jamison managed to get out. His eyes were black, just like the fresh blood seeping from his forehead. “This is just where I wake up.” He grinned reassuringly, his teeth sharp and threatening. A rush of pain overtook him and he growled. His skin and hair turned pale, and a pair of horns sprouted from those bloody patches. Bones and muscles cracked and shifted as the back of his shirt ripped open. Slimy wings stretched out, the torn flesh staining the little bit of clothing left on his body.

That was enough. Mako looked away from him and rose to his feet, unable to stomach the sight. The fields of hay around them had completely vanished, being replaced by a circling grey smoke. A figure stood just beyond it, and Mako squinted trying to make them out.

“Wait.” Something pulled at his pant leg. Mako turned and saw the Jamison he had grown accustomed to. The worst had ended, and now he sat panting beneath a layer of sweat and blood. “Don’t… go?”

Mako sighed. He leaned down and helped the pathetic thing up to his feet. Jamison couldn’t quite keep his balance, but Mako was fine with letting him use his arm to steady himself.

“So how do we get outta this-?”

“I can’t believe it!” So that’s who was waiting outside the smoke. Conor came running towards them but stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Jamison. His head snapped back in disgust, and he tried his best to avoid looking at him directly.

“Oi, what’s this meathead doing ‘ere!? Ain’t he the one who did this?” Despite Jamison’s current physical state, Mako could feel him rear back as if to pounce.

“Mhmm,” Mako answered, raising a brow at Conor. It was fun watching him try to hide his discomfort.

“Well, y-yeah! But I’m getting us out of it!” Where was that cool demeanor now?

“Do it, then.” Mako glared at him.

Conor looked between them, sparing a quick glance towards Jamison before swallowing his nerves and closing his eyes. The both of them watched him for a moment in an awkward silence. Mako was about to ask what he was doing, but felt Jamison grow heavy beside him. He was losing consciousness, and Mako did his best to keep him up. He tried calling for him, but he couldn’t hear a thing. The edges of his vision grew blurry, and the image of Jamison asleep in his grasp fizzled away. He couldn’t hold on any longer, and he found himself in nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN FOUR MONTHS I'M SORRY please direct your complaints to the comment section below.  
> Anyways I hope y'all like this update, lemme know what you think! I always love hearing from you, and the feedback is more than welcome.


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